


Functional Flexibility

by LMT



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Attempted Friendship, Fighting for fun, sex-flavored bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26402767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: “How about you, LaRusso?” Johnny says.  “What’s *your* secret weapon?  Your crane kick of sex?”  Knowing that the conversation will go nowhere good, Daniel just tells him that he will never, ever find out.  Even if he buys shots all night.**************************((After Daniel and Johnny discuss some newfangled ideas about sexuality, which were definitely not in vogue when they were kids, things get weird.))
Comments: 178
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: T** **o the extent that homophobia – oldskool and ingrained – requires a warning… consider yourself warned.**

* * *

They’re sitting on the couch together watching TV, and it’s a commercial break. (They are both used to watching cable TV with commercials, still.). During the break they check their phones. Johnny at least knows how to use his smartphone now – his students insisted. He frowns at it. “Have you ever done, like, computer dating?”

Daniel blinks. “You mean, like one of those websites? Those apps?”

Johnny nods.

“Come on! Look at me. I’m a happily married father of two, okay, I don’t-”

“I know, I know.” Johnny waves off his protests. “It’s just Miguel was talking me into it, showing me how to set up a profile, but I couldn’t even get past the first couple questions. I mean right off the bat I have to decide-.” He winces. Gestures aimlessly with his beer. “You’d… say you were straight, right?”

“What?” Maybe he misunderstood that. “Straight? You mean, as opposed to… as opposed to _gay_?” He almost whispers it.

Johnny nods, apparently oblivious to his discomfort. “Yeah, I mean. Apparently there’s, like, a lot more options now. And chicks who are a good lay – you know, the wild ones – they think _straight_ is lame. So I’m thinking I should say something different.”

Daniel tries to relax. _Try not be so uptight all the time_ was one of Johnny’s only conditions for hanging out with him, and damned if he can’t manage it. He has to. They can’t go back to being enemies. 

“So, what do you think?” Johnny presses. “Stick with _straight,_ and end up looking old and lame?”

Daniel snorts. “Or what? Say _gay_ , and have _guys_ come to answer your ads? Then what do you do?”

“Fuck em, I guess,” Johnny tosses off. They both laugh. “Yeah, no. Obviously I’m not going to say I’m a-. Gay.”

Daniel is unexpectedly touched. Someone – Miguel? – has tried to teach sensitivity to Johnny Lawrence, and he seems to be trying to learn. He stuffs the warmth down and keeps it light. “Okay, so what else can you say?”

“I dunno. All kinds of shit. Bisexual – that’s where you’d do either. Then there’s like, I forget, some thing where you’d do anybody, and it doesn’t matter if it’s a babe or a dude.”

“Isn’t that bisexual?” He’s lost already.

“No, man, I think it’s different. But I can’t put that one anyway, because I forget what the word is. So cross that off. Then there’s, what is it-… _heteroflexible_. Jesus, that sounds so gay.” They both laugh.

“And that’s... what?”

“I think that’s where you’re mostly straight, except, like, you’d _consider_ doing a guy, if you felt like it.” He tips his beer back. “I don’t know, that seems pretty alpha. I could probably get behind it.”

Daniel shakes his head, chuckling. “When we were kids, if you even _thought_ about considering doing a guy…”

“Yeah.” He drinks again. “Did you?”

Daniel feels his smile fall off instantly. “Did I what?”

“You know. Consider it.”

“Did I-?. Johnny. Never.”

“ _Never_? Come on.” Johnny reaches over to shove him playfully.

Daniel gets up off the couch. “Never,” he says sharply. He’s awash in adrenaline suddenly, ready to fight. “You got that?”

Johnny gets up too. It seems he’ll never really shake the instinct to bully, especially when he smells blood. “Yeah, I got it.” He steps closer. “Now cool off, Princess. Nobody’s hitting on you.”

“Good cause I’ll knock your fuckin head off, believe me.”

“You think so?” An unfriendly grin spreads across Johnny’s face. “Because, you’ve tried that already.” He advances, and Daniel gives ground, but after only a few steps they run out of room. “And here I still am.”

Daniel swallows hard, back pressed flat against the wall. “Why are you messing with me?”

Johnny huffs. “Why are so you easy to mess with?” He’s menacing and amused both – a dangerous combination, which Daniel doesn’t know what to do with. He should have tried to laugh it off. Now it’s too late for that, and Johnny is laughing _at_ him – mean laughter. “Daniel LaRusso, the straightest of the straight.”

He feels like he’s thirteen again and about to get his ass kicked for looking like a fairy again. Fuck it, he’s ready. He tilts his chin up defiantly. “Straight as an arrow,” he says, and it comes out hoarse, almost a whisper. His heart is pounding.

“Never kissed another guy.”

“Never.” He sees that Johnny is looking at his mouth, and for a moment he can’t make himself breathe. 

But, thank God, Johnny doesn’t lean in. 

... Instead, he just continues to mess with him. “Never voluntarily put a dick in your mouth.”

“Never.” But that’s not unequivocal enough. “Never _ever_ put…” He can’t even say it.

Johnny’s eyes flash up to his for a second. “Good for you,” he says. More amused than menacing now, but it still feels dangerous. Johnny’s hand comes up to his throat, as if he’s demonstrating a strangle, and that’s fine because people demonstrate strangles on him all the time. But then, Johnny lets go of his throat and thumbs his lip instead. “This is a one hundred percent dick-free zone, huh?”

It sounds like a challenge. He can’t close his mouth with Johnny tugging at him, not unless he’s willing to move his lips _against_ the hand, which he’s not, so he does his best to swallow with his mouth open. It makes him gag a little. “You got that right.”

Johnny sips beer without releasing him. “Never gayed up, ever, even a little. Pristine.” It’s obvious Johnny is mocking him, and crowding way too close to him, and that hand on his face is frankly _weird,_ but he starts trying to relax; of _course_ Johnny is only messing with him. Of course he isn’t going to _do_ anything.

“S’right,” he says, still without trying to close up.

Johnny gives a huff of laughter. Cocks his head. And spits into Daniel’s mouth.

* * *

He’s… not here. He’s just an observer, watching from a million miles away as Johnny smirks at him. Feeling from a million miles away as Johnny gently presses his jaw shut.

There’s something cool on his tongue. It’s slimy and it tastes like beer. Involuntarily he moves it around his mouth, trying to grasp the fact that he’s been spat on – spat _in_ – but nothing computes and all he can do is stare.

“There,” Johnny says. Runs a thumb over his lips again, and they’re closed now but slack and nerveless. He’s still just staring. He’s freezing and overheated at the same time, his heart is hammering as if he’s terrified but he’s not tense. He’s totally inert – helpless.

He’s aware that Johnny can do whatever he wants; he won’t be able to resist. He’s not driving. He’s a passenger in his own body, just watching as things happen to it.

But Johnny backs off and gives him space. That is horribly destabilizing; now he’s adrift without even a familiar touch to ground him. “Aright, go on,” he hears from a distance, “Get out of here.” Johnny sounds casual, somehow, flopping down on the couch without a care in the world. “Go home and bang your wife or whatever. I’ll catch you later.”

He forces himself to straighten up off the wall. Swallows hard. (Swallows what Johnny had-). “Okay,” he manages. It sounds hoarse and strangled. And jerky. “I’ll-. Catch you later.”

He’s already stuffing the incident down the memory hole – what incident? – and he’s never going to think of it again. (He still tastes beer.). He gets to the coffee table and fumbles for his keys. At the door he pauses. Turns and looks back.

Johnny has his smartphone out and is typing on it. Smirking. “Heteroflexible it is.”

* * *

**The End?**

**So…sorry for** **the fact that this fic exists. What have I put into the world. But it popped into my head and I couldn’t stop it, so, here it is. Sorry!**

**For now, I think I am ending it here. (Though I am curious to imagine how he would apologize for this sort of thing, so, who knows.). Let me know what you thought!**


	2. Chapter 2

He’s sitting with his family a couple of hours later when he gets a text. _The internet kciks ass. I have a hot date already. HUGE BOOBS._

He ignores it. After a few minutes he gets another. _Relax Larusso I was just messing with you._

He wants to ignore that one too. He can’t. He can still feel it on his tongue. He excuses himself from the living room and stands alone in his kitchen, breathing hard, trying not to throw the phone down the garbage disposal. He gets as far as _You-_ but then deletes it right away; he can’t even think the words, let alone type them out. In the end he says instead: _Fuck you Johnny._

He gets a response immediately. _SORRY! Sersly. Jeez relax_

He answers: _Go away._

Johnny tries to call him, but he doesn’t pick up.

* * *

There’s two weeks of blessed radio silence, before Johnny tries him again. This time it’s a text saying: _We still on for next Thursday?_

He hisses at the phone. Turns it over without responding.

But now his concentration is destroyed, and it won’t be coming back until he addresses this. He has to answer.

 _No,_ he wants to say, _Not after last time._ But if he does that, Johnny will do something ridiculous – show up at his dojo, his dealership, God forbid his house.

He types: _Sorry – something came up. Another time._ Then he erases that; either Johnny will see right through it and do something ridiculous anyway, or he’ll get away with it but it will only delay things another month until their next meeting, and then what will he do. He can’t avoid Johnny forever; that was the whole point of this thing.

So he says: _Ok. 9pm?_ Last time he came over at seven, but the later they start, the less time they will have. A beer or two, and then he can reasonably beg off because of work the next day.

He’s hoping Johnny will just say ok, but instead he gets some ribbing. _Thats not past your bedtime Danielle?_

He has a brilliant idea. _Fine, asshole. 7pm, sports bar. Youre buying._

If they’re in public, Johnny can’t possibly spend the night talking about dicks and assaulting him.

Hopefully.

* * *

The night before the meetup, Daniel is reading. Amanda is at the table going over reports. He can’t concentrate. He tries looking at her – at the way the light plays on her hair, the slope of her shoulders. When she touches herself in thought, skimming fingers over her face, it’s attractive.

 _She_ is attractive. She.

He knows he has no doubts, but still, he can’t shake the train of thought. And he can’t stop kicking himself for having been ambushed and caught off guard by Johnny Fucking Lawrence, who can never not _strike first._

The problem is he wandered into that conversation unprepared, and ended up sounding like a clueless idiot, as if he hasn’t learned a thing about sex in the thirty-plus years since high school. 

And after all, maybe he hasn’t. He learned young what to look for and what to do, and he found it and did it, and in all the years since he’s never asked himself any questions. Never needed to.

Amanda looks up suddenly, as if she feels him watching. “What?”

“Ah- nothing.” He goes back to his magazine. Glances up – and sees a smile playing on her lips. 

He gives up and puts the magazine down. She knows it’s not nothing, she knows he wants to talk, and who is he to argue with the superior wisdom of woman.

He rises and comes to stand behind her. Touches her shoulders, massages her neck. Wonders how to begin.

He’s long since learned that lying to Amanda is a nonstarter, so instead of trying to weave together some story he’ll come straight out and ask her. About Johnny – and _only_ about Johnny. He can ask her to figure out what the hell is going on in that asshole’s head, and what he should do about it, and that’s it. He’s not going to ask her whether it says anything strange about him that he can’t figure the answers out for himself.

“It’s just… I don’t even know the words for this," he sighs. “You know how I am about that sensitivity training stuff.”

She freezes. “Daniel, what did you do?” she says. “Are we going to have a lawsuit?”

He laughs outright. “No no no, nothing like that. I didn’t do anything.”

She relaxes. “Okay, good. Proceed.”

He bites the bullet. “It’s, uh, it’s about Johnny.” 

It’s brilliant of him to do this while he’s rubbing at her muscles – he can feel every bit of tension as it arises. “Okay,” she says carefully. “What about Johnny?”

“I think he-. Is there a word, for, um…” He takes a deep breath. “Someone who claims to be straight, okay, but, you know, they are _obviously_ … uh, interested. In another guy.”

She snorts. “They call that _closet case,_ but it’s not a very nice-”

“No,” he interrupts again. “I don’t think he’s been, you know, dreaming of-, men all this time. I don’t. He’s not. But I just-… he’s… getting a little weird.” He stammers a little, but he gets it out. “A- around me.” 

She twists in her chair, so that his hands are dislodged and he can’t read her anymore. She looks up at him with a smile and some _very_ raised eyebrows. “Are you telling me that you think Johnny Lawrence has a _crush_ on you?”

“Gg-, _Amanda_!” he hisses, looking around. “Shh. For God’s sake. No. No, I am _not_ saying that.”

Her smile widens. “He _does_ ,” she purrs slowly, teasing. “Aww. And you are _digging it,_ look at you.”

He backs away. Horrified. His own _wife-_.

Amanda is getting up from her chair, which means she isn’t looking at him, which means she can’t see his reaction and goes on. “Must be a trip, to have your old bully pining after you and- hey.” Standing, facing him now, she frowns. “Daniel, relax. I’m just teasing.”

He swallows hard. He’s not sure his voice will sound normal but he can’t say _nothing;_ he has to make this understood. “I do not want Johnny Lawrence to be _pining after me._ ”

“I don’t either. He probably has crabs.”

“ _Amanda._ ”

“Relax,” she says again, warm and drawling. (If one more person tells him to relax about this, he is going to lose it and put his fist through the drywall. Of every room in the house). “Honey, seriously. It’s not on you. Just ignore it, and if he’s getting _too_ weird, then ignore _him._ Don’t see him anymore. That’s it.”

He shakes his head. “We talked about this, remember? I can’t just ignore him, that’s never worked. There has to be an open line between me and Johnny; we have to keep it… cordial.” He almost chokes on the word.

“Cordial.” He can hear wickedness and before he has time to warn her off it, she adds: “Well whatever you do, just keep it above the waist, because he really probably does have crabs.”

He doesn’t get to every room in the house – he just puts his fist through the nearest wall twice.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Okay, now this is getting fun. I think I’m going to write more. Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

He gets there and sees that Johnny looks drunk, already, at seven o’clock.

He gears up for a bad time. But he’s a professional; he can sidle up and pull out a smile. “Hey,” he greets, and it comes out only a little bit weary.

“Hoooo, look who it is,” Johnny slurs, gesturing with his beer. “Thought you were standing me up.”

And that quickly, they’re arguing. “Which you would completely deserve.”

Johnny gives him an overblown look of skepticism – complete with a lean-back so pronounced Daniel worries he might fall off his chair – and says: “What? What did I do?”

Daniel glares. Could Johnny be too hammered to even _remember?_ But that is insane. He must be messing around again, and tonight Daniel just does not have the patience for it. “Don’t fuck with me, Johnny,” he says, hard. “It’s not funny.” He sees that his seriousness is registering, so, reluctantly, he sits down. “How drunk are you?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.” Johnny’s gaze sharpens and he sits straighter. Takes a couple deep breaths. Somehow, incredibly, he seems to be willing himself back towards sobriety... and it’s working. “What?” he says, not so loose and loopy now. “I told you, I’ve never failed a field test. Zero DUIs. I am the champion.”

It’s quite impressive, except then he burps, and Daniel has to wave the fumes away. “I hope you never let them breathalyze you.” But that makes him look down at Johnny’s mouth, which reminds him of _that,_ which makes him angry again. He bites his lip. Can’t keep quiet. “Johnny, what the hell were you _thinking_?”

Johnny takes a sip. “Honestly? I was thinking about going for the kiss,” he says, smiling into his beer. Enjoying this. (While Daniel looks around in panic to make sure nobody is listening.). “But I decided it might flip you out too much, so I went easy instead. You’re welcome.”

“Went _easy_? You-.” He looks around again to confirm that there is no audience. Nobody’s looking, and the music’s loud enough that nobody will overhear… but he still can’t make himself say it. “What you did is so much worse.”

“It is not so much worse!” Johnny argues with him childishly. “Are you kidding? It is _way_ less gay. I didn’t even touch you.”

He can feel himself approaching explosion.

Johnny gives a sulky shrug. “I mean, okay, it’s _freakier,_ sure. But not _worse._ ” He rolls his eyes, as if somehow _he_ is the one being put upon. “Look, you want me to apologize? Fine.” Draws himself up and turns in his seat, hands folded like a job interview. “Daniel LaRusso, I’m sorry I spit in your mouth. You’re not-”

“ _Sh!_ ”

“-the first girl to complain about it, though you-”

“What-?“

“- _are_ in the minority, so I think you need to broaden your- _Hey!_ ”

Daniel finally stops him by grabbing his collar and shaking. “Hey. Whoa, whoa. _Whoa_.” Finally Johnny is quiet. “You mean to tell me-…” he looks around. Lowers his voice. “That you _do_ that to people? As a… sex thing?”

Johnny nods. Reaches up to detach his grip. “Not to everyone,” he clarifies quickly, tugging his shirt back into place. “Only the wild chicks. You know. The ones that ask you to pull her hair, slap her ass, call her names. They love it.”

Daniel’s mind short-circuits suddenly at the thought of Amanda – _pull her hair, slap her ass, call her names_ – he can’t imagine any of it. Literally can’t even imagine.

“Earth to Danielle,” Johnny says at last. Slides a shot down the bar to him. “Your mouth’s hanging wide open. Pour _this_ in it before I think of something better.”

He tries to pull himself together. “Fuck you Johnny,” he manages, breathless with anger, and does the shot. Forbids himself to cough on it. Coughs anyway.

When he gets himself together there’s another shot waiting for him. He glares at it, and Johnny, and the bartender, and asks for water.

Johnny starts to hassle “Don’t be such a _girl_ -” but he snaps: “It’s for you.” He does the second shot and they glare at each other. “Drink the water and sober up,” Daniel orders, “Because if you keep hitting on me, I swear I’ll leave.”

Johnny has the gall to look _offended_. “I’m not hitting on you, LaRusso. You’re not my type. I don’t go for pussies – male or female.”

He wants to snarl that he’s not a pussy; that he knocked Johnny out once and will do it again – but that would be playing right into Johnny’s drunken hands. Instead he just says, firmly: “Good, because I am not interested.”

“Liar.” Johnny gives him a sly sideways look. “You are absolutely interested. You’re just not _willing_. Yet.” Then he bursts out laughing and rocks back. “God, I haven’t used that line in twenty years.”

Daniel finds himself laughing too. “That was your pickup line? That’s horrible.” But thinking back, he can remember a few girls that were _absolutely_ interested, and _never_ willing, and he never knew how to get through to them. He has to ask: “Did it ever work?” He takes a sip of the water, which is sitting unclaimed between them, before pushing it firmly to where it belongs. 

“All the time,” Johnny sighs fondly. Drinks a sip and shoves the glass back to him. “Remember what girls were like back then? Always pretending to say no, like they were too good for it.” He hates to agree with Johnny on anything, but yes, he remembers. “Not anymore though. Now they tell you straight out that they want your dick.”

“Maybe some do.” Daniel clears his throat and says into the water glass. “Maybe the kind who like you to spit in their mouth.”

Johnny snorts. “G’head, make fun of my power move. I dare you.”

Daniel tries to quell him with a Look, but of course Johnny plows right through it.

“I know it worked on you. But guess what,” Johnny rambles on, before Daniel can deny it, “If it hadn’t, I got others. How about you, LaRusso? What’s _your_ secret weapon? What’s your crane kick of sex?”

This conversation will not end well. He needs to escape it. “That is none of your business,” he says, nose in the air. “You can buy me shots all night long but I promise you are never, ever going to find that out.”

* * *

They drink a lot. The bill at the end is a healthy size, and Daniel feels bad when Johnny makes a face at it. (Even though Johnny has been the one ordering!). “Here,” he says, gesturing. “Let me get that.”

Johnny crunches it in his fist and pulls it back. “Hey. I got it.” He sounds tipsily affronted. “I said I was buying.”

Daniel smirks at him. “Actually, _I_ said you were buying, but you weren’t as big a dick today, so I’m willing to reconsider.” He gestures again, impatiently. “Johnny. Cmon. Let me get it.”

“I don’t _not have_ a hundred bucks.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

Johnny puts the check down and starts digging out his wallet. “Anyway, you already feed my kid,” he mumbles. “I’m lucky you don’t ask for child support.”

Daniel eyes the crumpled slip. While Johnny is distracted with one hand in his pocket, he darts his hand forward for it-

And slaps the bar, comes up empty.

“Too slow,” Johnny smirks, holding it out of his reach again. “Come on, LaRusso. I got your number.” Chucks him on the chin.

Daniel slaps his hand away. Raises both fists. “Let’s go,” he says, only half teasing. “First point gets the check.”

Johnny squares up too-… then frowns. “Hey,” he says, gesturing with his head. “What happened to your hand?”

“What?”

“Bad board?” While he tries to think of how to answer, Johnny leans in a little and examines for himself. “No, that’s swollen _and_ skinned. You get in a street fight, LaRusso? With someone else?” He looks incredulous. “Are you _cheating_ on me?”

“Oh my God.” Daniel tucks the hand out of sight. “I did not get in a street fight.”

Johnny. Can. Smell. Blood. “So whaja do?”

He shrugs, sour. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s _trying_ not to think about it.

But Johnny is still staring at him, and once again it’s too late, he’s too slow, he should have casually made something up. Now he’s out of time and definitely too drunk to be crafty, so he just admits: “I put my hand through a wall.”

Johnny gives him eyebrows.

“Oh, what?” he sneers. “Like you’ve never punched a wall before.”

Johnny shrugs. “No, man, I punch walls all the time,” he agrees easily. “It’s no big deal.”

Somehow it’s worse when Johnny _doesn’t_ fight with him. “Well, it is though.” He drinks up the last of the latest water glass. “Amanda doesn’t know – I did it after she was out of the room, and I didn’t tell her – I just pushed a potted plant in front of it.” He laughs a little, thinking of how ridiculous it must have looked, him standing there trying to rearrange the leaves to cover the damage. But it really isn’t funny. “I have to call someone to fix it, except I can’t let her see, so what do I do?” He pulls out an imaginary phone. “Hello, handyman? I need a hole patched – uh, but, you have to come over in the middle of the night, you know, and sneak in the back door, because we can’t let my wife find out.”

“That sounds like the beginning of a porno.”

“Shut. Up.”

Johnny shuts up. After a minute he suggests, “Want me to fix it right now? I keep stuff in my trunk – between me and my students I’ve got property damage somewhere like every week.”

Daniel’s jaw drops. He’s been worrying about the wall all day, and he can’t believe it would be this easy. “No way.”

“Yes way. What, you’ve never done home improvement drunk before? Cmon. It always comes out way more improved.”

“Tell you what.” He reaches out and grabs Johnny’s wrist. (Slow and unsteady after all the shots, but Johnny doesn’t stop him.). Pries his fingers open, to only slightly more than token resistance, and takes the check away. “Okay, but then I am definitely buying.”

* * *

**TBC.**

**Okay, so now I officially don't know where this is going to end up. Don't mind me, I'm just along for the ride.**

**Let me know what you think!!**


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

(Entirely predictably, in retrospect) they don’t get away with it. They’re too noisy from the start – Johnny fooling around and dropping things, Daniel hovering over him to fuss and criticize and backseat-drive. Eventually Johnny turns and smears him with joint compound. It gets in his _hair._ He’s much too drunk to take that in stride; they almost come to blows.

Then the lights go on. (Good; in retrospect phone-flashlight was never going to cut it). Amanda is standing there, in a nightie barely made decent by a silk robe, blinking with one hand up to shade her eyes.

She takes in the scene. “Seriously?” she says at last.

This isn’t good. Daniel tries to replicate Johnny’s instant sobering-up of earlier, tries to stand straight, tries to get his thoughts in order.

He’s too slow. “Mrs. LaRusso,” Johnny waves with his less messy hand. “Hi. Sorry we woke you.”

He sounds like a schoolboy trying to talk his way past a teacher. Daniel can only pray that he’s good at it.

Amanda comes forward, still squinting in the light, arms crossed. She inspects the wall. “What happened?”

Once again Johnny jumps in. “Uh, it was my fault,” he says, apparently experienced in producing the right blend of embarrassment and apology. Probably charmed a lot of teachers in his day.Daniel can’t see whether it’s working, though, because Johnny has edged around to stand in front of him, boxing him out. “We were horsing around, and uh, honestly I’m a little drunk. Not so coordinated right now. It was an accident, my fault. I’m sorry.”

“Uh huh,” she says, flatly. Daniel steps out from behind Johnny’s back so he can see her. She looks back and forth between them, frowning and suspicious, but Daniel doesn’t realize what she must think until she looks at him with genuine concern and says, voice hard: “Daniel, are you okay?”

Johnny, _thank fucking God,_ misunderstands that. “See?” he says, aside. “Even your wife knows I’d kick your ass if we really got down to it.”

Daniel sighs. Puts a hand to his temples. This shields him from eye contact enough to lie. “It really was an accident,” he says. “Seriously. I’m fine. We’re just going to finish the wall, and then _Johnny is leaving._ We’re fine. Sorry we woke you.”

“Okay.” She relaxes. At first he’s glad of it, until he sees her start to smile. _No,_ he thinks, _Don’t you dare tease,_ but she can’t read his mind and she jokes: “Do I need to stay and chaperone?”

Daniel takes a breath and holds it. Flipping out now will be more than counterproductive. He lets Johnny answer.

“No ma’am. We’ll be quiet, and we’ll make it good as new. Promise.”

“Okay,” she says, a little doubtfully. “You play nice now.”

“I’ll be up soon, honey,” Daniel says to her back as she’s leaving. He thinks his voice sounds all right.

Once she’s gone he returns his attention to Johnny. “I hate you,” he says. “You always, _always_ find some way to make my life worse.”

“Oh, please. Your life’s fine.” Johnny just returns to what he was doing. Eventually says: “Your wife is a babe.” 

He ignores that.

“Tough, though. I bet _she’s_ the one slapping _your_ ass.”

He ignores that too – barely.

“I wonder who’s better at it. Maybe me and her should trade notes.”

That’s it. He can’t let that slide. He eyes the tub, but if he smears Johnny back it will end in an unholy mess. He eyes the wall, but if puts another hole in it the repair project will take even longer.

Anyway, it’s not the wall that has pissed him off. Johnny’s hands are busy with the work, so he gets a good punch in to the ribs unopposed. Johnny grunts and complains “ _Ow!_ Asshole.” but it doesn’t seem to hurt him too much – and now _his_ knuckles are throbbing again. 

Fucking Johnny. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Just a short one today, sorry! Hope you're enjoying...**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This one’s short, sorry. But I’ve got another one nearly ready too, so I think I’m going with short little updates for the next few days.**

* * *

On the eve of his next meetup, Daniel arranges a lovely night in with his wife. He cooks. He opens good wine. And when she’s put two glasses away and they’re talking about everything and nothing, he asks: “Babe... what would you say my sexual superpower is? Like, my best move?”

She takes a slow sip, and he figures she’s thinking about it. Then she lowers her glass, sinks back into the couch and says knowingly: “Is this about Johnny Lawrence?”

He jumps up. “What- why would you _say_ that!”

She gives a big shrug and brushes her hair back. “I don’t know,” she drawls, “Maybe it’s because _every time you go see him_ you get weird. You’re weird for a couple of days leading up to it, and you’re _definitely_ weird for a couple days after.” She’s smiling, but it doesn’t help.

“I’m not _weird_ ,” he snaps, and he can hear the alcohol in his own voice. He should have done this without a single drink in him, to make sure he got it right. He rephrases – reemphasizes. “ _I’m_ not weird, _he’s_ weird.”

“I’ll bet he is.” She laughs – mocking gently, very gently, but still he hates it. “What did he do, tease you about not having the _moves_?” she guesses, widening her smoky eyes for emphasis. 

He shrugs. He’s too angry to keep anger out of his voice, but he knows it’s not fair to be angry at _her_.

“So now you want to brag to him about what a good lay you are.” She cocks her head – still smiling, but it seems a little unfriendly. “Don’t you think that’s a little bit… invasive? Honey? Maybe I don’t want Johnny Lawrence to hear all about my sex life.”

“I’m- I’m not going to-…” He trails off. Okay, that’s _exactly_ what he was going to do.

“And _no,_ ” she says, “Before you ask, no he’s _not_ allowed to come watch us. Or jump in.” She leans forward to set her drink on the coffee table. “I mean sure,” she says, aside, “Once upon a time, having two testosterone-drunk karate guys fighting over me might have been, like, _exactly_ up my alley.” She sighs up at a spot on the ceiling, apparently _imagining_ it. “But now I have all these stretch marks, and I’m not-”

“ _Amanda_!”

“-Up for all the things I used to be and _what?_ ” she laughs. “Daniel, take it easy. I’m just kidding.”

He tells himself that she’s kidding and tries to make himself breathe. She’s kidding. Just kidding. His _wife_ is not actually suggesting that she, _or he_ , should engage sexually with Johnny Fucking Lawrence. She’s kidding.

He tries to calm down, but he doesn’t know what he can say that won’t be aggressive and inappropriate, so eventually, she’s the one who breaks the silence. “Do you want me to tell you what your superpower is?” she volunteers. For a moment he’s cheered.

Then she says: “It’s your neckrubs.”

“My... neckrubs...?” He has never felt so _lame_ in all his life. He has no moves. He is the opposite of cool. He is some loser who girls come to for pampering, before they go off and sleep with the Johnny Lawrences of the world. Guys who don’t give neckrubs, guys who ride motorbikes until they graduate to muscle cars.

He has a sudden urge, unfamiliar and totally foreign, to shove Amanda down on the couch. Climb on her, maybe pull her hair, and see what happens.

Yeah, right.

“Honey.” She pats the cushion next to her until he comes, slow and sulky, to sit. “It _absolutely_ is a superpower.” She smiles – but it looks bracing. He doesn’t believe it. “You can come up to me when I’m _not_ in the mood – after a hard day, when I’m tired and cranky and I have a headache – and sit down to rub my shoulders – and you can turn me on. You can…” she shakes her head, as if she’s looking for words. “You can, like, commune directly with my body.”

He frowns. Does that sound creepy?

“You can put me in the mood for touch, and sex, all by yourself. And frankly that’s _not_ how turning on a grown woman usually works. I have to say, it’s pretty amazing.”

Sure, it’s a compliment… but he’s not sure this information is going to help him. He doesn’t think _giving good neckrubs_ sounds like a very alpha move, and he’s certainly not going to tell Johnny that that’s the best thing his own wife could say about his bedroom game. “Yeah,” he deadpans, “I’m pretty wild in the sack.”

He needs to read some books. No – watch some movies.

No, then they’ll show up on the streaming service somehow and what will everyone think.

He could blame it on Anthony?

Hm.

“Honey?”

He shakes himself back to reality. Amanda is looking sort of concerned, and pitying. “No no, nothing,” he says, “I’m fine. Sorry. Just tired.”

She sighs. “You’re good in the sack,” she says, gentle and encouraging and _God this is humiliating._ “But… wild?” She laughs. “Honey. That’s never been your thing – and anyway, at this point, I think that’s more for Sam and Robby’s age bracket. No?” 

“Amanda!” _That_ thought is disturbing enough to push even the thought of Johnny out of his head.

* * *

**TBC.**

**I know what’s happening next, and at the end, but there’s still a lil space in between. Let me know if there is anything particular you want to see :-)**


	6. Chapter 6

The outing is Daniel’s idea: attend a juniors tournament an hour away, incognito, as spectators. It will be fun to watch karate they have no stake in, and it’s smart for them, professionally, to scope out what some other dojos are doing.

(It will also probably be good for Johnny to give his liver a rest day, but, he doesn’t mention that.).

When Johnny arrives to pick him up, he’s ready with a warning before they get in the car. “If you’re in the mood to say anything weird to me today, that needs to happen in the next hour, _in the car._ Not in the stands, where people might know us. You got that? Once we get there, we act like normal adults.”

Johnny puts his sunglasses up on his head and squints across the car. “Me? Weird?” He shakes his head, like it’s a crazy thought. “Get in, Danielle.”

* * *

It’s not long at all before Johnny says something weird. He’s still doing internet dating – a lot of it, apparently; it sounds like he’s having a lot of success. (Of _course_ he is. Daniel really, really hates this guy.). He’s wondering aloud about the ideal age for a babe. He’s trying to fix a number on “Not so old that she’s _old,_ but not so young that it’s _off_.” Daniel sort of tries to participate, except how can he, when he hasn’t been trying to assess women as potential partners in almost two decades.

Then, Johnny asks suddenly: “How old is Mrs. LaRusso?”

“Amanda-.” He swallows. After what she said the other night? “Look, I’m not talking about her with you, okay?” he says. What she suggested – what she made him _imagine_ – needs to never be spoken or thought of again.

“Okay fine, we won’t talk about your wife.” Then Johnny snorts. Reaches over and smacks him on the leg. “Hey, isn’t that, like, one of the signs that we’re having an affair?”

He stares out the window. Tries to find serenity by looking at the trees – except it doesn’t work, because Johnny is driving too fast.

* * *

“What the hell?” Johnny mutters, shifting in his seat.

Daniel looks at the road in time to see brakelights in front of them – a lot of brakelights. Something’s wrong in the left lane; cars are scrambling to slow down or get out of it. Johnny brakes pretty hard, checks the mirrors, slides in between cars in the lane next to them.

Daniel looks down at the arm across his chest. “Did you really just mom-seatbelt me?” A protective instinct. If he lives to a hundred he will never understand this lunatic. 

Johnny returns both hands to the wheel. “You’re right, my bad. Next time I’ll stop shorter and make sure I send you through the windshield.”

“Do that and I promise this is the last car you’ll ever get from me.”

He’s only kidding, but Johnny darkens. “You sound like my step-dad.”

He sighs. He can’t win.

* * *

They’re out of sync with each other for most of the car ride, but once they get to the tournament things are better. It _is_ fun to walk around and watch, no students to worry about, no reputations to defend.

When they sit, a guy sitting near them recognizes Daniel, and then Johnny once he’s introduced, and then they all fall into easy, comfortable rehashing of the old days. 

Johnny has a lot to say about the All-Valley in the early eighties. It’s interesting; Daniel has never really spent much time thinking about the tournament in the years before he got there. But then their bleachermate – Dennis Something? – starts talking about rule changes, and he sees Johnny squirm in his seat.

Here it comes: _That kick was illegal._

But Daniel doesn’t feel like arguing. So he elbows Johnny and makes a comment, any comment, about the match. “Look at that.” He shakes his head. “At _no_ point in my life, even at my best, could I kick that high.”

Johnny shrugs and cooperates with the subject change. “Yeah, pretty impressive.” But then he adds: “Back in our day guys weren’t expected to be, you know… flexible.”

Daniel tenses. Steals a look and catches Johnny’s lips quirking. _Oh God. Oh no._ He has a sudden vision of grabbing him under the arms and chucking him down the bleachers. Would that shut him up?

Johnny turns to him. “But it’s definitely something you can work on,” he says, his tone bland and innocent _and totally belied by the asshole smirk on his asshole face_. “I bet you’d be surprised – I bet you have more flexibility than you realize. Never too late to try.”

Of course it sails right past Dennis, who just ribs them lightly for being old. But it’s enough to keep him on edge for the rest of the tournament.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Tomorrow’s is heavier than this. Dun dun dunnnnnnn!**


	7. Chapter 7

On the way home, Daniel drives. He likes this car (except for the paint job), and Johnny taunts him mercilessly for not having it anymore but tosses him the keys. He guns it a bit when he pulls onto the highway. He’s in a good mood. 

So is Johnny. “Today was fun, LaRusso.” He sounds surprised.

He supposes it _is_ surprising that they managed to talk about old tournaments without fighting. “Yeah – especially since you didn’t start complaining about my _illegal kick_ again,” he laughs. Maybe there is a future for them as friends after all. “That’s probably the first time you-”

“See-! You _knew_ it was illegal!”

He sighs. Should never have brought it up. Well, at least now they’re alone and not fighting in front of strangers. “I didn’t, and it wasn’t,” he says. “I beat you by one point – and I dated your ex. When are you going to get over it?”

“Bullshit.” Apparently Johnny will never not argue about this. “You stole my girl. You stole my trophy.” 

He sounds like he’s twelve. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“You put me in the hospital.”

 _That’s_ a new one. “Oh, please. I did not put you in the hospital.”

Johnny shrugs. “Okay, technically _Kreese_ put me in the hospital,” he says. “But it was your fault, and anyway, all he did was a concussion and a couple of cuts. The rest was all you.”

“Johnny, what the hell are you talking about,” he sighs. “I didn’t touch you – and the only one who got cut was Kreese. Mr. Miyagi pulled him off you.”

“...And then headed out,” Johnny adds, hard all of a sudden. “You and Miyagi riled up a dangerous asshole, _and then headed out_.”

Realization dawns. “And Kreese wasn’t done,” he guesses. Jesus. “Nobody ever said anything to me.” He gives a quick glance over. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Johnny jerks his head no.

That bad? He swallows. “Look, whatever he did was not my fault.” Kreese was a sadist unfit to have charge of kids. He thought they’d agreed on that? So why was Johnny acting like-

“Well it wasn’t mine either,” Johnny says. His voice sounds clogged. “All I did was say _sensei are you okay._ I was _trying_ to help.” He sounds... emotional? What is Daniel supposed to do now?

Luckily he doesn’t have to do anything; Johnny just pushes on and finds solid ground again. “Buuuut… he picked me up and threw me into a car,” he says. “Whaled on me while I was out, apparently. With a hand full of glass, because _somebody_ thought it was a good idea to have him put his fist through a window.”

He doesn’t imagine that; he’s watching the road. “Kreese was a piece of work.”

“Yeah. Wasn’t by the bedside when I woke up, that’s for sure.” Daniel knows he’d be polishing off his beer if he had one. Instead he just picks restlessly at a spot on the dashboard. “Stitches went fine. Concussion cleared up. So the only thing that lasted was from your stupid kick – and it was honestly awful, I have literally never felt so much pain in all my life. So, thanks for that, asshole.”

“The kick – from the match? You never told me you got an injury.” He feels bad for not knowing. “What was it?” he asks, thirty-plus years late, but who’s counting.

But Johnny doesn’t seem mad. “Neck thing. Compressed whatever, spinal something, I forget the words.” He shrugs it off, even laughs a little. “It hurt aright when you did it, but after I woke up from lying down, I wanted to die.”

“Yikes. Sorry to hear that,” he says automatically. “It’s okay now, though?”

“Yeah, mostly. Just still prone to re-injury.” He puts his hands up behind his head, stretching. “Which is another reason, not that I _needed_ another reason, to never get into that gay Brazilian jiu-jitsu shit.”

Subject change definitely works; he goes along. “Yeah, Brazilian jiu-jitsu is _the gayest_ sport.”

“So gay. Gayer than the New Kids on the Block.”

“Easily. Gayer than that kid who used to keep his shorts on in the gym shower – you remember him?”

“God – yes!” Johnny’s laughing now. “Wow. What was his name – Sheldon? Cedric? Something stupid like that.”

“Yeah, something.”

“Yeah. I mean, that was just _weird._ I mean I guess I’m glad – nobody wants to see awkward gym-class boners – but still. It was weird.”

“Yeah.” He finally makes himself say something. “Look, I really didn’t know you got injured.”

Johnny shrugs. “Shit happens in competition. Especially when you throw fancy moves without knowing what you’re doing, I guess.”

He ignores that. “And I _definitely_ didn’t know about Kreese,” he adds. “We didn’t see – there’s no way Mr. Miyagi would’ve let that happen.” _Even after all the crap you pulled in the tournament._

Johnny’s quiet for a minute. Then he says: “Let’s stop for a drink.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” he protests, but he’s already calculating where they are and what’s off the next exit.

Amanda doesn’t expect him home early, or sober, anyway.

* * *

**TBC**

**I do think Mr. Miyagi was irresponsible in what he did with Kreese post-tournament. Sometimes that kind of guy slinks off when his ego is damaged… other times he decides to rebuild it by steamrolling whoever he can get his hands on. So, I think it was uncool of Miyagi to upset him and then leave him there with the kids he was just beating up.**

**Also I can't WAIT to see Daniel feel entitled to an apology regarding his supposed knee injury, cause I have feels on that. >:-)**


	8. Chapter 8

Johnny orders two shots and two beers – and then asks Daniel “And for you…?” Not a good sign.

When the drinks come, Daniel snags Johnny’s second shot himself and tosses it back, too fast for even the 1983 All-Valley Champion to stop him. “What the hell!” Johnny protests.

His eyes are watering. Why does anyone ever do shots? He holds up his hand for time, to make sure he’s not going to gag it up, before answering. “Because one’s plenty. Just take it easy, okay?”

Johnny glares at him, takes the shot he’s got left, and gets to work on his beer.

Daniel sips his own drink. Which is strong, but at least it gets rid of the awful taste. It’s obvious what he’s supposed to say, but it’s not fair and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to.

But he’s promised himself he will maintain relations with Johnny, and if this is what it takes, he’ll do it. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, several minutes into an awkward silence. There: hard part over. “The tournament went rougher with you than I realized.”

Johnny just shrugs. “Shit happens.”

Somehow the reaction is unsatisfying. “Well, sure, but kids aren’t supposed to kick each other’s heads off _even in competition,_ ” he says. “So, seriously, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Johnny says, flagging down the bartender with a smile that doesn’t look happy. “Don’t lie to me, LaRusso.”

He flares up a little. All that work to make himself apologize, and Johnny isn’t going to _accept_ it? Who the hell does he think he _is_? “Well what about _you_?” he says.

“What about me what?”

“Don’t you think _you_ owe an apology too, after what you did?”

“Nah – not really.” A shot comes; Johnny does it. “I fought dirty and got my warning for it, end of story.”

“You- you tried to _break my leg_ ,” he hisses. He’ll never forget the feeling of the knee giving out underneath him.

Johnny pauses, beer midway to face. “That was Bobby, man. Get it straight.”

He frowns. True – he forgets, most times, that Johnny Lawrence hadn’t been his only match at the All-Valley. It’s true that the kick he was remembering came from the round before.

But no – he also remembers _Johnny_ grabbing his foot and crashing to the ground with him, an explosion of pain. He’s _positive._

“Tell yourself whatever you want,” he says, “I know you took your shot too. So actually…” He’s talking faster than he can think, as the ideas fall into place for the first time: “Actually, I _withdraw_ my apology, because it was actually your own fault, because the only reason I even _tried_ a crane technique is because I couldn’t stand up!”

Johnny huffs. “The only reason you couldn’t stand up is because you’re a pussy,” he says, somehow managing to sound belligerent and lazy at the same time. “All I did was throw an elbow. You were fine. You walked out of there.”

“I _limped_ out of there. Barely. It hurt like hell!”

“Good. It was supposed to.” Johnny stares off a moment, then laughs. “God I love that elbow. Bruise like this, right?” He spans with his hands, about four inches across. It _does_ look about right. Then he gets serious. “But I didn’t tear any ligaments – even though I _could_ – so stop bitching.”

He _looks_ serious, but please. “Yeah, right. I call bullshit.”

Johnny takes a drink. Smiles into it. “Just because _your_ sensei didn’t teach you to kick any actual ass…”

“Bull _shit_ ,” Daniel says again.

But later on, drunker and cheerier, they spar for the check. They strike and block a few times, and then Johnny catches him with a light slap to the face – followed by a clean hit to the solar plexus. It’s hard enough to be unpleasant, but not hard enough to actually wind him, and while Johnny digs out his wallet he rubs the spot and wonders. Is it possible that a fighter whose whole MO is based on brutality could actually have that kind of control?

 _He isn’t brutalizing his students,_ Daniel realizes suddenly, for the first time. _In this day and age there would be lawsuits. So he must be able to control himself at least a little._

“What?” Johnny says at last.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” Johnny chucks cash on the bar and stands up. “Tell you what, LaRusso. Some day when we’re not drinking, let’s go to that pansy little garden of yours and throw down. Okay? You _do_ at least have mats over there, right?”

He’s strangely reluctant to invite Johnny to Miyagi-do, but the alternative would definitely not work. Cobra Kai is full of Cobras 24/7, and there is no way the fooling will stay friendly if people are there egging them on. Someone will have to get them a body bag. (Cobra Kai probably has one in its supply closet.).

“Better there than _your_ dojo,” he says. “I’m not setting foot in that den of evil.”

“Fine – you couldn’t hack it anyway. Now...” Johnny holds out his hand expectantly. 

It’s the wrong hand for a handshake – is he looking for a _hug_? Daniel just stares, drunk and stupid. “What?” 

“Keys, bro. You can’t drive _sober,_ let alone trashed. Give.”

He hands over the keys. They go to the car. And Daniel makes sure to put on his seatbelt – they’re likely in for a lot of choppy brakes, and Johnny’s in no condition to mom-seatbelt him now.

* * *

 **TBC**.

**As an athlete, I believe that given their respective training backgrounds - Johnny spent years sparring live against varied opponents his own age, while Daniel... balanced on stuff, did kata with an older dude, and chopped inanimate wood and ice blocks? - there should be a horrible skill mismatch here. Upsets happen all the time in the pressure of competition, but I think it will play out differently when they're both just messing around. So, apologies in advance to anyone who thinks Daniel is supposed to be better. I totally don't find that plausible, and I feel like it would be an insult to the innumerable buckets of sweat I've poured out over the years for me to pretend that actual practice doesn't matter. :-)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: They fool around with a takedown in this chapter. If you want to be able to visualize it, it’s an osoto gari – gifs here.** [ **https://gfycat.com/slowboilinghuman** ](https://gfycat.com/slowboilinghuman) **(Slow, kind of lame one).** [ **https://gfycat.com/longskeletalkookaburra** ](https://gfycat.com/longskeletalkookaburra) **(Cooler, but maybe too fast to see what they’re doing.).**

**I’d always thought of this as a judo move, but google says it’s a thing in karate too, so.**

* * *

Johnny comes on time, and sober, and cheery as Daniel’s ever seen him. Dressed in sweats – Daniel was half expecting him to show up in a full Cobra Kai gi – but wearing his headband. “You warm, Danielle?” he greets, then answers himself. “Course you’re warm. You’ve been out here for the past hour doing _ka-ta_.” He enunciates it with big arm-sweeps like he’s mocking. (It rubs Daniel the wrong way that his guess is right… and that his movements are actually decent.).

“All right, wise guy.” He’s so wound up – this has been a _long_ time in the making. “Let’s go.”

“Take it easy. We have literally all day.” Johnny smiles at him, like an asshole. “And I promise I’ll be happy to beat on you for as long as you want.” He takes keys and wallet out of his pocket and tosses them into the corner. Tosses his smartphone with only slightly more care. Faces him, rolls his neck and shakes his shoulders loose. “Aright,” he says. “We’re on.”

They bow. They circle for barely a couple of seconds. And then Johnny darts in.

Johnny is _smarter_ than Daniel remembers. Or maybe he’s just not as rushed? Because where Daniel remembers wild flurries and violent spins, what he gets now are sequences that are fast but neat, with direction changes that actually make sense.

Which makes them easier to follow and then to predict. He scores the first hit – a followup to a kick that glanced off the shoulder. Johnny nods and tosses a hand up, acknowledging the point carelessly, before getting back into his stance.

Somehow that irritates him. If Johnny doesn’t _mind,_ then he’s obviously not doing a good enough job yet. They keep going. The next kicks that land are simultaneous, and Johnny signals no-point before resuming.

Daniel stands up. “Hey. Why do _you_ get to be the referee?”

“Because I have seniority.” Then he frowns. “Oh – that was the rule at Cobra Kai. Is it not your rule too?”

“Uh.” He gears up to get mocked. “I didn’t exactly do a lot of sparring with Mr. Miyagi, okay?” Maybe Johnny will let it go. “Your rule’s fine.”

But of course, once he’s found a weak spot Johnny pounds on it. “Yeesh,” he says, with a theatrical wince. “How are you supposed to get good at fighting, _without fighting_?”

“I got good enough to beat _you._ ”

“You got lucky, is what you got.”

“And my karate isn’t about _fighting_.”

“God, that’s lame.” Johnny resumes attacking, like it’s fine to hold a conversation mid-match. “At Cobra Kai we trained live all the time.”

Daniel tries for a big kick and then another, before answering. “What, did you guys get frequent flier points at the emergency room or something?”

Johnny’s eyes narrow. He’s… offended? “Those were my teammates.” Strike, strike, strike. “My friends.” Block, block, duck. “We didn’t hurt each other at practice. Much.” He adds it quick, then opens distance. 

“ _Much._ Right.”

He realizes too late that distracting himself with sarcasm was stupid – Johnny almost kicks him upside the face. He dodges it _just_ in time. And the next one.

“Quit running, LaRusso,” Johnny jeers – kidding? – as he chases him across the room. “Stand and take it. What’s a little beatdown between friends?”

Hell, no. He does stop running – so that he can stand and lecture. “ _My_ _friends_ don’t give each other _beatdowns_.”

Johnny looks at him a moment. “Yeah?” he says, and _BAM_ \- brutal side kick out of nowhere. “Point, me.”

 _Inhale. Inhale dammit._ Daniel’s hunched over trying, and that’s all he can focus on, until he’s pulled upright by double handfuls of shirt. He struggles, but not very well since he still can’t draw a good breath. “So what was that, LaRusso?” Johnny pants into his face. There’s not enough space for Daniel to read his expression; all he can tell is there’s a lot of teeth. “You don’t want us to be friends? You sure about that?”

Johnny jerks him sideways. His balance shifts so that all his weight is on one leg – and before he can take any action, the leg is swept out from under him and he crashes to the floor.

“ _Ughl_ -” A guttural sound is forced out of him when Johnny plunks down on his chest. Johnny’s straddling him with knees on the mat, but his weight is all on Daniel’s diaphragm and there is a lot of it. He doubts the crush is an accident.

He tries to shove him off, but it’s no good. He can’t move. Can barely talk. The best he can do is gasp: “You got fat.”

Johnny laughs. “Yeah – too bad for you, huh?” But then he relents, slides back and settles lower, over Daniel’s waist.

At least now if he keeps his stomach muscles tight he can resume breathing – for as long as his muscles last. “Johnny, you’re a real dick,” he says. “Get off me.”

Johnny ignores him. “So you never mixed it up with your friends.” He’s smiling a little, but it looks dangerous. Like he has a bad idea. “Take it you never mixed it up with your girlfriends either?”

“With- _what_?” It takes effort to puff words out; he’s getting tired. 

“You heard me.” Johnny fishes for his wrists, catches them, and pins them to the mat with _weight_.

Now he’s beyond screwed; he’s held down and spread out and he regrets with all his heart that he’s never taken a grappling class. A week of lessons would have been enough to put a stop to this madness, but instead, here he is helpless with Johnny Lawrence sitting on top of him, laughing down into his face.

His high school self would’ve died of a heart attack. If High School Johnny didn’t kill him first.

“Hate to tell you, LaRusso, but most of my girlfriends put up a better fight than that.” (Is it his imagination, or did Johnny just grind his hips around a little? It _better_ be his imagination. He tells himself it is.).

He squirms underneath but fucked if he knows what he’s supposed to do to actually escape. “What are you, some kind of caveman?” he spits. “You don’t _wrestle_ girlfriends!”

“Sure you do. Long as you let ‘em win. Sometimes.”

“All right: enough.” But it’s hard to sound firm and adult from a position like this. “Fucking let go, you asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. In a second. ” But he doesn’t let go. Instead he licks his lips, slow and intentional. His eyes are moving all over Daniel’s face.

 _I was thinking of going for the kiss_. 

_Going_

_Going_

_Going for-_

_I was-_

_No._ He turns his head away as far as it goes. “Johnny, don’t. Fucking don’t.” He’s breathless – and not just from the smothering position. He is panicking in full.

“Aright. I said aright. Fine.” This time he does let go. Climbs off and gets to his feet. 

Daniel gets up too but staggering; he’s lightheaded. Maybe he rose too fast. He has no plan for what to do or say. He bends to put his hands on his thighs and breathe.

Johnny speaks first. “When’s the last time someone threw you, bro?” he asks, casual. “C’mere.”

What wrecked him was not the throw – but it’s an excuse he’s happy to take. “It’s been a while. Just-.” He gestures to _get away._

“Relax, I’m just going over the move. Stand up.”

He stands, half expecting something terrible to happen, but it turns out Johnny is telling the truth. “Start like this.” Cool and unhurried, like he’d teach any student anything. “Grab the gi if he has one, shoulders if not. Pull this way to off-balance the guy.” He does it as he’s explaining. Daniel follows along; working through movement is helping his brain become unstuck. “You step _just_ past him with your outside leg – see? Inside leg sweeps his. Comes up, sweeps back. See? Right… _there_.” Johnny’s leg bumps his. Then he lets go, and they back away from each other. “Yeah?”

Yeah. He’s done this before – if a long time ago, and rarely. He remembers the setup and the principle, but he didn’t exactly spend a lot of training sessions throwing Mr. Miyagi down to the ground. “Show me the finish,” he says. He’s starting to feel better, but he could use another round of being guided through.

Johnny comes in and sets up again. (God, his grip is strong. But it doesn’t feel threatening now, only firm and competent.). “The leg is the key. For an enemy, you sweep the hell out of it and chuck the guy down.” He tugs to suggest it. 

Daniel shakes his head. “Enemy,” he mutters. These people.

Johnny ignores him. “Or if you want to be not as badass, try like this.” He scoops the leg with steady pressure, pulls Daniel and lowers him slowly to the ground. 

Daniel only realizes once he’s hit the floor that instinct at falling backwards has made him grab Johnny’s sleeve and behind his neck, and they are _way_ too close now, so he lets go fast and wipes his hands on the mat. “Aright, move,” he growls. “My turn.” It’s a lot easier for things to be normal when Johnny isn’t sitting on him depriving him of air and personal space.

Johnny gets up and invites him with spread arms. “Let’s see what you got.”

Daniel closes his eyes. Visualizes the technique, lets his muscles feel it. _Pull. Step. Sweep._

He comes close – then hesitates. “You don’t want me to-… drill it somewhere first?”

Johnny just gives a Look.

“Fine.” He grabs Johnny like he was shown, steps past with his outside leg-…

And smashes directly into him, chest to chest.

Before he can even alert to the fact that they’re too close again, he’s being pushed back a step. “Nuh-uh,” Johnny tells him. “You didn’t pull enough or step far enough out. Watch.” He demonstrates: “Yank the guy. Step past. Crash into him _here_. Shoulder-to-shoulder yes,” he says, banging them together a few times. “Full-on hug-fest no. Not unless it’s a girlfriend.”

But he doesn’t demonstrate that. He doesn’t tease, not even a little bit. And he hasn’t, Daniel realizes, ever since he freaked out and started begging _Johnny don’t._

So now Johnny isn’t. The master of Cobra Kai is giving him _mercy_. 

That is pathetic. He wants to flee the room. 

“You okay, man?” Johnny says.

He tries to pull it together. “Yeah,” he manages. Because what else can he say? He makes himself focus. “Let me try it again.” He does, and the takedown goes right this time, but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s only because Johnny is _letting_ him do it. Because he feels _bad_ for him.

It turns out there is something worse than being sexually harassed by your lifelong karate rival: _not_ being sexually harassed by your lifelong karate rival anymore, because he thinks you can’t take it.

* * *

TBC.

Tee hee, I like them fighting. I may do another fighty part.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s nine thirty in the morning and he has to pound on Johnny’s door for several minutes before Johnny opens up. When he does he’s wearing sunglasses. Hung over?

“Get dressed” Daniel says. “You’re late. We were supposed to be on the road half an hour ago.”

Johnny sniffs. “So then… _you’re_ late.”

He sighs. “I gave you an extra half hour to get your shit together. Cause I know you.”

“Egh.” Johnny turns and gestures for him to come in. “Obviously not well enough. Cause then you’d know that for anything before ten A.M. I need an extra _hour_.”

Daniel sighs. “Just get dressed,” he says.

“Where are we going?”

“Just get dressed.”

* * *

In the car Johnny asks again. “Will you please tell me where the hell we’re going?”

“I’ll tell you where we’re _not_ going,” he says. “We’re not going to a bar again. Every time _you_ pick the place, it’s a bar, and we drink ourselves stupid and regret it.”

“ _I_ don’t regret it.”

“Aright, Johnny.”

Johnny shuts up a minute, then tries again. “Just tell me. Where?”

Daniel can’t read him behind those stupid sunglasses. “Somewhere far into the woods,” he says, “Where they’ll never find your body.”

“They’ll never find _your_ body, either,” Johnny mutters. Apparently he intends to spend the day acting like a giant child. That’s okay, though; it’s better than some of the _other_ ways he can act. And Daniel’s used to this. He remembers how much Sam whined when he first brought her to the woods, and he doubts Johnny can match it.

He has a plan. Normally when he brings someone here he likes to spend time just _being_ , first. Normally they would do breathing exercises to reach a place of calm.

For Johnny to cooperate with any of that, though, any at all, he has to first be convinced that it will lead somewhere _badass_. So, as soon as they park, Daniel makes a beeline for the tree. “We’re doing something _healthy_ today,” he says. “Which’ll be a nice change from the usual.”

“Healthy. Great.”

“Before you make fun of me,” Daniel says, “I want you to watch this. Really watch it. And then we’re gonna do it, together. Down here and then up there. Okay?”

He climbs up. Takes a look down at Johnny, who is standing attentive, with his arms crossed. Then he closes his eyes. Centers himself. And begins his kata.

It’s perfect. Even more perfect than what he’d usual call perfect, which he attains maybe a quarter of the times he practices. This time he’s really _perfect_ though. Every motion where and when he wants it, nothing awkward or hurried, as balanced on the slippery log as he’d be on a dojo floor.

He comes back to himself at the end to see that Johnny is still watching him – still quiet, and still attentive.

He really must have looked great. (Which is a good thing, because his ego desperately wanted it. He’s big enough to admit that to himself.).

“So. You ready for that?” he teases as he jumps down to the ground carefully.

Johnny shrugs and pulls one arm across his chest – stretching. “Hell, yeah.” Switches to the other. “Ten bucks says I get the whole thing right on the first try. Right now.”

Daniel laughs… until he realizes Johnny isn’t joking. “Johnny. You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Ten bucks.”

What an _asshole._ It’s an insult. And Johnny doesn’t even have the decency to admit it; he’s pretending like they are both just having fun. “A hundred bucks says you can’t do the first two movements,” Daniel snaps back… and then revises himself. “No – five.” Johnny’s never done this before but he isn’t a total novice to the sport. “Hundred bucks says you can’t do the first _five_ movements, up there, without falling off.”

They face each other a minute, drawn up like they’re actually going to fight it out. “You’re on, man,” Johnny says at last. He takes his sunglasses off and tucks them into his pocket, then climbs up. He uses the same handholds Daniel did, which briefly makes Daniel worry that he has a hidden superpower – maybe he’s some kind of karate Rain-Man who can instantly remember and repeat anything he-

No. When he reaches the top he flails wildly for balance before he can even stand up. He looks ridiculous. There are definitely no superpowers here.

Daniel lets out a sigh of relief. This is going to be good: Johnny Lawrence is absolutely going to fall on his ass (hopefully. Not on his head. He’d hate to have to leave the woods early for a hospital!), any second now.

“All right,” Johnny says. “Prepare to be schooled, Miss LaRusso.”

Right.

Johnny shifts his weight and opens his stance. He moves through a couple of slow, deep breaths – _maybe_ a little faster than optimal, but with hands rising and falling exactly as they should. 

Then he starts. And…

And it’s correct.

It’s not perfect, and he’s obviously not very comfortable with it, but still, it is indisputably _correct_. Eerily so. Because it’s not just that he’s doing the right movements in the right order, it’s that the position and pacing and intensity are _exactly_ the way Daniel would do it himself, exactly as if Daniel had spent hours and hours next to him guiding him through.

This can’t be. He’s back to his Rain-Man theory again-…

When, after about thirty seconds, Johnny stops. “I think _somebody_ owes me a hundred bucks.” And jumps down. Smirking like the biggest asshole in the universe. Which he is.

Daniel breathes. He’s trying for calm. He’s trying not to bite Johnny’s head off, because really, how can he justify being _angry_? So the guy has a little skill. So what. That may rub him the wrong way, but it’s not like-

“Look at your _face,_ man!” Johnny cracks up.

That’s it. He suddenly stops trying to control himself; for once in his life he’s going to vent his frustration directly with Johnny. Very directly. He steps in fast, grabs the shoulders, and sweeps the hell out of him.

Johnny doesn’t stop him – just keeps laughing, from the ground. “ _Ow_!” he complains. “Hey! There’s rocks and shit down here!”

 _How did you do that,_ he wants to ask, but he won’t give the satisfaction. He is _pissed._ His whole day is now ruined. He had a vision of how it was supposed to go, Johnny _shutting up_ for once and learning something, putting aside all his macho bullshit, showing a little respect for once in his stupid life. And now, of course, none of that is going to happen.

Johnny gets up, still laughing. “I got you so good.”

If he rubs it in for _one more second,_ Daniel is going to throw him back down again.

“I got Robby to give me intel – and a video,” he explains, the smug son of a bitch. “If I had a couple more weeks I would have learned the whole thing and _really_ freaked you out. That’s what I wanted to do – but it’s actually harder than it looks, I’ll give you that. Even this much took forever.”

Robby. A video.

He’s so pissed he can barely talk. “You did all that. Just to mess with me?” 

“Yep. I’ve been practicing this literally _every single day_. You’d be proud of me, man. I probably practice more than you do.”

Proud? No, he’s raging. He can’t believe how one person can be so wholeheartedly committed to messing with another.

Johnny starts brushing leaves off his clothes – so he’s looking down, and Daniel can’t read his expression, when he says: “You want to actually teach me how to do it right?”

“Uh-.” He swallows. His rage drains suddenly and now he’s just confused. So… is the day back on? Why is he _shy_? “You… want to actually learn?”

“Yeah,” Johnny says without hesitation. “We’re in this far. Let’s do it. Let’s get up there!”

He makes for the tree, and Daniel takes a deep breath. This is the moment of truth: is Johnny actually going to behave himself, or not? “Wait,” he says, firmly. “Actually, we start on the ground first, so I can stand next to you. Come over here.” His teacher’s tone has appeared like magic, mellow and certain, and so help him Johnny _better_ respond to it. If he makes a wiseass comment instead, they are done.

Johnny looks at him a minute. Then gives a tiny half-shrug, and comes to stand where he’s told.

* * *

**TBC.**

**I have another chapter of Forest Stuff underway, which I really like because they get into talking about their old grievances again. I’m super tied up tomorrow, but after that I’ll get it done as soon as I can!**


	11. Chapter 11

It goes surprisingly well at first. Daniel positions Johnny behind and to his left, so that Johnny can watch him and follow. Especially after having _cheated_ and gotten a preview, it’s not long at all before Johnny is matching him smoothly. He’s not lagging behind or rushing, he’s not scrambling to self-correct wrong movements. (Daniel can hear when a student does this, even outside his line of vision.).

“Okay – switch spots so I can see you,” he says. That’s when things start to get dicey.

Johnny’s stance is mostly good, but there’s some tension that shouldn’t be, so Daniel touches a shoulder. “Relax this.” Johnny shrugs him off irritably. _Okay, no touching._ Some students prefer to get their instruction all verbally. It’s a shame because a lot of times a physical correction is more efficient, but he’s fine with it. The next time he has a comment he puts it into words: “Turn your wrist more – hand all the way vertical – but don’t let your elbow flare out.”

Johnny hisses at that, too. “Quit bossing me around, man,” he complains. “I hate people giving me orders.”

 _Orders?_ The Cobra Kai senseis give _orders._ Daniel just teaches.

And, come to think of it, that makes the complaint doubly annoying. “Seriously?” he says. “ _You_ have a problem with taking orders?”

Johnny cranes to give him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He should have let it go – but he said something, and now Johnny’s fighting with him, and now he _can’t_ let it go. “It means I remember how that psychotic coach of yours could’ve told you to jump off a cliff, and you’d have been all over it.”

Johnny faces forward again. “Yeah, and look how that ended up.” Cranky and childish. “Maybe I’m not so big on orders anymore.”

He sighs and re-centers himself. In this moment Johnny is his student, and keeping his student in the zone is _his_ responsibility. “Okay, well, look,” he says, as reasonable as he can. “ _I’m_ not going to ask you to jump off any cliffs, all right?” It is a crazy thing to have to say. “I’m just going over the moves. You can take orders on this one.”

“Bite me, LaRusso,” he says right away. But… he relaxes, and resumes his position, and doesn’t complain when Daniel has him adjust his elbow again.

* * *

They’re on the tree for probably two hours, until Johnny’s ratty old t-shirt is soaked through, but eventually it seems like enough. “All right, I’m about done,” Daniel says. “You?” He hops down – but Johnny doesn’t follow. Is he reluctant to leave? Daniel kind of likes that. “You want to do one more?”

“Yeah. But wait – I’m going to change. I want a video. I’ll put a couple of the kicks on my dating thing.” Johnny pulls his shirt off and starts toweling himself with it – and in case that’s some sort of seduction technique, Daniel makes sure to look away. 

He hears Johnny jump down. It occurs to him to be nervous that the guy is behind him _just a second too late_ ; his head is suddenly engulfed in warm and clammy _oh God that’s his shirt_ , he realizes as he’s flinging it off him.

“ _What the hell!_ ” He starts wiping himself as hard as he can, using the hem of his own shirt to clean _someone else’s sweat_ off his neck. Disgusting.

“Never turn your back on the enemy.” Johnny’s at least dressed again now, and holds out his phone. “Here. And make sure you hold it sideways. I get a lot of shit when my phone videos are up-and-down.”

* * *

Daniel takes the video and he has to admit he’s proud of what they’ve accomplished. He’s in a good enough mood to forget about the disgusting shirt, so he climbs up and they sit on the tree together. 

Johnny fidgets. “Now what?”

“Now nothing. Now we sit and… listen to the forest.”

“Uh huh.” Johnny hops down. “I have to run to the car – I forgot something.”

He’d assumed that Johnny would be resistant to sitting and appreciating the peace of nature, but still, the form his resistance is taking is a little bit of a surprise. “What the hell did you forget?”

“Mind your beeswax, man. Gimme the keys.”

Ah – now he gets it. Johnny’s going to go drive off to a bar, and come back trashed at three A.M. to collect him. (He does believe Johnny will return _eventually_ though, which he supposes means they are making progress.). He decides to hang on to the keys. “It’s unlocked.”

“Kay.” Johnny meanders off – in the right direction.

He returns a few minutes later with an enormous case of beer.

“What- what the hell!” he sputters. He’d refused in no uncertain terms to pack alcohol. He’d even searched Johnny (visually. No pat-down) for it before he got in. “Where did that come from?”

“I told you. The car.” Johnny climbs up with the box balanced on one shoulder – he’s obviously got plenty of experience toting around cases of beer.

Daniel grits his teeth. “How did it _get_ in the car?” Johnny must have snuck it in in advance? Has he been creeping up at night and breaking into their garage?

Johnny sits back down. Opens one first, and takes a sip. Grins. “The lovely Amanda LaRusso may have had something to do with it.”

“You called my _wife_?”

Johnny looks at him like _he_ is the crazy one. “Yeah – at work,” he says. “Cool it. It’s not like I was texting her at three in the morning.” He snorts. “With dick pics. Which I now know how to take.” He sips again. “I don’t get it, though. Miguel says everybody sends them, but nobody wants them. So then why send them? Doesn’t it, like, take the suspense away?”

Daniel reaches for a beer himself. He needs it.

“Hey baby,” Johnny purrs off into the distance, “Wanna see what I got? Nah, no need – you sent me a picture already.” He slaps himself on the leg. “Boom – rejected.”

Somehow, the taste of beer makes things seem okay – like, it’s an explanation for why this conversation is happening to him. “I have no idea why a guy would send a dick pic,” he says. “The only reason I even know what they are is because my son is an idiot. I have no idea.”

Johnny laughs. “Your son? Man, isn’t that kid, like… eight?”

Daniel shakes his head. He’s not going to talk about his kids with this guy. “It’s a new world.”

“Yeah.” Johnny shakes his head too. “We couldn’t have done that shit if we _wanted_ to.”

“God no. And can you imagine?” He tries. “You snap photos on your mom’s Canon – and then take the roll to get developed? Like: here you go, son, here’s your order. Grandma’s birthday party, family Easter shot… oh, and some pictures of your raging erection. Have a nice day, son, tell your mom I said hi.”

Johnny laughs – loud and open like he’s never heard – and then takes over. “And then what – you’d like… physically pass them out at school? Stick it in a girl’s locker with a note on the back?”

“Check boxes,” Daniel agrees. “Do you like this? Yes. No.”

“If enough guys did it, the girls could, like, compare. Trade them around like baseball cards.” Johnny finishes his beer and starts another one. 

Daniel can’t believe he’s having fun. “Dick pics,” he says, shaking his head. “Jesus.”

“Mm.” Johnny slides him a look sideways. “So, what’s your number again?”

He chokes on the sip he’s taking. Coughs it out. “Don’t even think about it,” he manages to say eventually.

But he can see Johnny’s thinking about it. Or about _something_ – God knows _what_ he’s thinking, he’s insane, but whatever it is is making him smirk and snicker in a way that Daniel can absolutely recognize as dangerous.

He puts his drink down. Coughs some more, mostly to give himself a second to think.

He’s going to have to put his foot down sooner or later, or this will never stop. Johnny will push and push until he oversteps, and then back off, and then have a few beers and start pushing again. “Listen,” he says, serious. “You have to understand something.”

Johnny waits.

He takes a deep breath. He likes the forest; he’s balanced and relaxed here; it’s all good. “You weren’t the only guy to give me a hard time back in the day, okay?” he begins. “There were some guys back in New Jersey. There were some guys here, after you. Sometimes things got ugly.”

He takes a second to sip his beer. Johnny does the same, and still doesn’t interrupt. “This one time-.” No. “Sometimes things were really bad,” he says instead. “Guys didn’t like, I don’t know, the way I looked, or something, and… they made my life miserable. It’s not just that I didn’t like getting beat up,” he clarifies, because technically Johnny made his life miserable too. But it’s hard to say much more without thinking about it, which he doesn’t do, so. “It’s that it was ugly,” he repeats.

Johnny drinks again. Nods.

“So now…” Ugh. No. Metaphor is always better. “Look. You’ve been doing karate a long time,” he says. “So, I know you get how… sometimes you get an injury… and then even years later…”

“I get it.”

Does he, though? Daniel doesn’t want to have to do this again, so he powers through to make sure. “Sometimes that’s just how it is. You can tear a muscle, and scar tissue forms… and you’re never going to get any flexibility back.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Johnny turn his head. He doesn’t look. He replays his words and realizes he needs to clarify. “If you ever even had any in the first place,” he adds fast.

Johnny turns front again. “Loud and clear, LaRusso.”

There. He lets out a long breath and drinks some more beer. He’s done it, and nothing bad happened. He waits for the knot in his stomach to dissolve; should be any minute now. What is there still to be nervous about?

After a while of silence, Johnny reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. Shakes him. And it clears the knot right up.

Johnny Lawrence, silent and supportive? Amazing.

Then, of course, Johnny wrecks it by opening his mouth. “Just so you know,” he says, “ _I_ beat on you because you’re an asshole and you deserved it. That’s the only reason.”

He pulls free. “Oh, gee, that makes it all better.”

Johnny shrugs.

Suddenly he forgets about being terrorized by anybody else; what he wants is an apology from _this_ bully right here. He’s fucking entitled. Ali or no Ali, you don’t just _do_ the things Johnny did and then expect to get to be _friends_ later on. “You guys did a number,” he says, hard. “All year. Attacked me five on one. Ran my bike off the road – _down a cliff_? Do you even remember that? You were on your motorbikes…”

Johnny cocks his head, staring off. Then he laughs a little. “Oh yeah! Yeah, okay, that was a little dangerous,” he admits. “We were idiots. Sorry about that.”

That heats him up even more. _Sorry about that,_ like it was some kind of party foul? “And what about when you guys jumped me?” he snaps. “Don’t act like _that_ was an accident. You knew exactly what you were doing. You chased me half a mile.”

Johnny shrugs again – but it looks a lot tighter and less careless. “Yeah, well, you had a beating coming and you wouldn’t hold still for it.” He sounds surly now – like maybe he’s a little ashamed. 

Maybe they can finally see eye to eye on this – maybe they will finally come to a resolution. They have, after all, just spent the day learning to be perfectly in sync. “Johnny. Come on.”

Shrug.

“Five on one,” he presses. “You guys could have killed me.”

“ _You_ come on,” Johnny mutters darkly, “It wasn’t five on one. They were just holding you for me. It was all me. Well,” he adds, “ _Would_ have been all me, if Miyagi didn’t jump in and start beating the shit out of people. The guys did _not_ deserve that.”

He can’t say he’s ever stopped to try and parcel out responsibility between the individual Cobra Kai fighters for his year of hell, but, he’s sure of one thing. “ _You_ sure did.”

Johnny shrugs. Drinks. “Yeah, well. Maybe so. You didn’t see me looking for payback on it, did you?” 

He drinks too. It’s true, he supposes, that there were no more attacks. But he’s not feeling very charitable. “I always just figured Mr. Miyagi had scared the hell out of you people.”

Johnny snorts. “Please.” Then he turns and gives a long level look. “I _was_ going to hurt you that night,” he says. “I’d had it up to here,” gesturing with his beer, “And I lost it, and I was going to break that pretty little face. So.” He returns to looking out into the forest. “You can be mad at me for that if you want. Can’t say I’m super proud of it.”

His mouth falls open. It’s weirdly chilling to hear that calm confession when they’re out here all alone with each other. _Break that pretty little face._ “Oh.” What do you _say_ to that?

Johnny shakes his head. “Thanks to Miyagi you got out of there okay, but still. I’m sorry.”

He savors it for a moment – _I’m sorry –_ it’s about damn time and some vindication feels good.

Then he gears up for what he has to do. He knows a sincere apology when he hears one, and he knows that now he has to say it’s okay – even though it will never, ever _actually_ be okay – because otherwise _he’s_ the asshole. “It was a long time ago. We were kids,” he tries, “And you’re right, I kinda started it with you a couple of times, so-… and I did get to kick the hell out of you one day, so, you know, I guess-”

“Don’t kill yourself, Danielle.” Johnny interrupts, waving at him to stop. “I _said_ you can be mad at me if you want.”

* * *

**TBC.**

**I honestly think Daniel wouldn’t want an apology if one were offered – he prefers to keep hanging onto his grudge and feel that it’s justified. But I’m letting him have his cake and eat it too here, cause I’m nice like that.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Back to this fic now! I have a few more chapters to go, and all are underway.**

* * *

In the days afterward he feels good about having talked things through with Johnny. He feels like they’re getting to some kind of closure, where he eventually won’t feel queasy when he remembers exactly who he’s been hanging around with. He’s glad that Johnny finally admitted he did something wrong. And he’s glad that Johnny finally understands why hitting on him, even for pretend, is only going to run into a brick wall, always and forever.

He believes that they got somewhere with each other. And he believes that Johnny isn’t going to misuse anything he heard. In fact, after a couple of days with no texts (beyond a reminder to thank Amanda for the beer, which he is not going to do), he starts to think Johnny is going to file it away and never mention any of it aloud – ignoring anything anyone ever says about their emotional state is probably his usual policy.

So he’s satisfied with how things are going, until they meet up on the boardwalk one night three weeks later and the first thing Johnny says to him is: “So I was thinking about what you told me last time.”

He wishes, hard and suddenly, for a drink. “Uh huh…?” he says, wary. With eyebrows. Johnny _has_ to hear the warning there, _better_ be planning to tread with care…

“I think we should go get in a fight.”

He blinks. Tries to figure out how B would possibly follow from A and comes up totally empty. “What, like, you want to get in a fight… with _me_?” What did he say that could possibly make anyone want to fight him?

“No, not with _you._ I mean-, yes with you. But not _with_ you.” He hisses with irritation, and shakes his head. “I mean not _against_ you. Just with you.”

Who’s on first? He can’t help laughing a little. “Been hitting the bottle already, Johnny?”

Johnny rephrases. “I think you and I should go kick the shit out of some people who deserve it.”

He doesn’t appear to be kidding, so Daniel answers him seriously. “No. We can’t just run around like vigilantes looking for bad guys to beat up.” (He has actually always, _always_ daydreamed about doing this.).

“Yes, we can.” He nods down the boardwalk. “Down there’s a couple bars filled with assholes. We walk into one – holding hands. Someone picks the wrong day to fag-bash, and we wreck their shit. It’ll do you good.”

“Oh yeah, sounds great,” he snaps, before he realizes that Johnny is _serious._ “Are you _crazy_?” He skips right over _I’m not going to hold your hand_ ; that should be obvious. “I’m not going to invite people to _fag-bash_ me.”

“Why not?” Johnny says, with his usual tactlessness. “Don’t worry about freezing up – you’ve got backup this time. You’ll be good, you’ll get it together.”

He’s frozen right now just _thinking_ about it. 

“Come on, man.” Johnny doesn’t stop. “You’ve gotta get used to standing up for yourself, taking back what’s yours. You can’t worry about assholes.”

Is Johnny seriously trying to talk him into some Cobra Kai streetfighting bullshit?

Yes, he realizes, because Johnny adds: “Just give it a try – I got up on your tree, didn’t I?”

He shuts it down in the harshest way he can think of. “If I wanted to stand up for myself and take things back,” he says, “The first asshole I would beat up is _you_. Okay? So maybe you need to just chill out, and be glad that punching my way out of problems is not how I-”

“Aright, let’s go,” Johnny says over him, smiling.

The smile and the cheery tone throw him; they don’t match the threat of violence. “What?”

“We’ll go on the beach and blow off a little steam in the sand.” Oh, right. Johnny used to like to _mix it up_ with his friends. (And girlfriends.). “Relax – it’ll be fun.”

Maybe it will be fun and maybe not, but it’s distracting Johnny from that first proposal and he jumps on it. “All right. You and I’ll last a lot longer for each other than some idiot we find in a bar anyway.”

Johnny shoves him, still cheery. “Yeah. If you don’t crane-kick me this time.”

“Yeah, no promises.”

* * *

Maybe because he _does_ want to crane-kick Johnny, and doesn’t know how to fight friendly when he’s all keyed up, he’s reluctant to do any attacking at all. He mostly confines himself to blocking and avoiding as Johnny throws long series of strikes, and kick after kick after kick. 

Johnny’s not trying to land anything though; as soon as it becomes apparent that Daniel isn’t really fighting back his style shifts: he keeps his rhythm predictable and telegraphs the kicks before they come. Sometimes he even announces the next move aloud, while Daniel is still absorbing the shock of the last one.

It feels good to defend himself this flawlessly, he feels bulletproof – except that it is _exhausting_ , especially in sand. If he gets too tired to keep up, he’s going to let one in and it’s going to hurt.

 _You got this,_ he tells himself. Johnny is an alcoholic who eats out of the dollar store freezer. If Daniel can’t outlast him…

“Doing okay, LaRusso?” Johnny laughs after he lets out a loud _oof_.

“Yeah – lot better than you,” he pants. Block. Block. Block block block. He backs away to get a second to breathe. How is Johnny still going? “Has anyone ever told you you have anger issues?”

“Anger? Pssh – who doesn’t have anger?” He advances. “Front kick. Watch your gut.”

Daniel steps back with a block.

“Now your face.”

He dodges it. Johnny’s a very considerate batterer, when he wants to be.

Still, he’s getting tired, and even though he hasn’t missed a trick yet the blocks are starting to hurt and he knows he’s going to be covered in bruises tomorrow.

He looks for a chance to catch a high kick. He gets it – and sweeps Johnny’s remaining leg to dump him into the sand.

He backs up on high alert. For all he knows they’ll be actually _fighting_ now…

But Johnny’s done. He lies spread-eagle and swims, like he’s making a snow angel, then gets up slow. “Man. I think I pulled something.” That’s no surprise. At their age you have to stretch well before kicking over your head like a maniac.

“I hear you.” Daniel rolls his wrists out; he should have stretched more too. Now that the adrenaline’s going away the blocks are all catching up with him and he’s solid pain from the elbows on down. Oh well. He doesn’t mind yet; violent and chaotic moonlit sparring turned out to be kind of a rush. “That was fun,” he admits. He accepts the bottle Johnny hands him (where did _that_ come from?) and they both drink.

But then the peace is disturbed by someone’s very bright flashlight catching them in the eyes from a distance. Repeatedly. Daniel holds his hand up to shield. “Hey – can I help you?” he calls.

Johnny steps up close beside him. “Maybe we’re getting our fight after all,” he says. “Great – now I’m tired.”

He doubts Johnny is ever too tired to brawl. “Take it easy,” he says instead, “It’s probably nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. It’s _cops._

“Ah, shit,” Johnny says as he sees them coming. “You want to get out of here?”

“What?”

“Go ahead – you’re the one with a reputation to worry about. You split, I’ll stay. I got it.”

“ _What_? No – nobody’s running away from the police,” he says. “We’re fine. It’s fine.”

When the cops arrive it’s less fine than he expected, though. They’ve had reports of two weirdos in a fight, they think it’s probably drugs and they’re shining lights in his eyes.

“Officers, it’s nothing like that.” Daniel figures it’s on him to talk them out of trouble; he’s much better at hiding how pissed off he is. “We don’t do drugs. And we weren’t fighting.”

Johnny snorts. “That’s right – Princess here would be _way_ more beat up if we were actually fighting.”

The skinny cop doesn’t seem to like that – or Johnny. (And Daniel doesn’t blame him, that belligerent alpha routine is really dislikeable.). “Well look,” the cop says, “You gentlemen are apparently intoxicated, so you’re looking at a citation here, for-”

“Oh, come _on_!” Johnny kicks sand like a little kid. (The bottle is still in his hand). “You’ve got to be kidding me! This is _not_ disorderly!”

The cop’s hands do something at his belt. What the hell is that – mace? A taser? Are they about to get police brutality’d because Johnny can’t keep his stupid mouth shut? He makes frantic efforts to peacekeep, addressing both sides at once. “Just hold on a second,” he says to the cops, while at the same time he’s planting a hand on Johnny’s chest to hold him back. “You need to calm down, okay?”

(Johnny’s heart is hammering; good, he’s not the only one.).

When Johnny stills he turns his attention to the cops, ready to try and charm his way out of trouble. 

He sees at once the way they’re looking at him. He takes his hand off but he knows it’s too late; they’ve already judged him too touchy-feely and he knows what they’re thinking now. 

Which is not fair – at all. He’s physically comfortable with Johnny because they do karate together and that’s the only reason and there’s nothing whatsoever weird about it and what the fuck.

He’s mad… but he doesn’t feel like a cornered animal. (Maybe having backup does make a difference?) He doesn’t freeze up and he doesn’t panic. He just thinks, _to hell with them,_ and thinks about how to talk them down. He can. He disarms customers way more hostile than this on a regular basis.

He reaches down and finds Johnny’s wrist. (He _can’t believe_ he’s holding hands with him tonight after all.). “Look, don’t give us a hard time. We’ll get out of here right now. _Please_ do not cite us,” he says, over the skinny cop who’s already opening his mouth. “I’m not supposed to be out tonight.” He lets go, and raises his hand to flash his wedding ring. “Come on – please.”

The big one moves the light over him. “People said they heard a fight.”

They’re sweaty and disheveled, and Johnny is standing there fluffing sand out of his hair. “We weren’t fighting. We were just-…” He makes himself remember the feel of a hand on his face, holding his mouth open so that Johnny could lean close and-. “-Just hanging out,” he manages, choking it out, down to the sand. He _feels_ his cheeks heating.

They believe him (no wonder; his embarrassment is genuine). And they take pity (no wonder; so is his misery). “Right.” The skinny cop clears his throat. “Well, you can’t hang out here.”

“Yeah. You guys need to get out of here. Find a room.” The big one thinks it’s funny, two closet cases sneaking around under the pier, and he doesn’t look up because if he sees that sneering amusement it’ll cut too close to the bone and he’ll lose it. The best he can do is nod and mumble _okay yes sir._ The cops turn and leave. 

He only remembers to breathe when Johnny grabs him by the shoulders.

“Nice one, bro.” Shaking him, patting him hard on the back, pulling him away. “C’mon, I’ll get you a drink. You’re all right.”

* * *

TBC.

I kind of would have loved to see Johnny try to unflinch Daniel via a streetfight, but I just *could not* believe Daniel would cooperate with it. Sigh.


	13. Chapter 13

“Hey,” he hears himself say thickly, a couple of hours later. “Thank you.” The world is spinning, so that’s not great, but finally he feels relaxed.

“For what?” Johnny looks over at him. He’s drunk too – eyelids drooping, paper bag unsteady in his hand. He looks like a bum – right at home sitting on this busted curb in a parking lot after closing time. There’s still sand in his hair.

“For tonight,” Daniel says. “For… being my friend.”

Johnny snorts at him. “Thought you said we weren’t friends.”

Right – and he stands by that. But he means something else. “You were gonna get arrested for me.”

“Eh. Drunk tank’s no big deal.”

“Yes it is.” Anyway that’s not really what he’s thinking of. He takes his time and enunciates clearly: “You had my back when I was not okay. Thank you for that.” Jeez, he must be so drunk. _I was not okay._ He can’t remember the last time he said that to anybody.

“Mm.” Johnny drinks and doesn’t fight that one. Finally he says: “It’s messed up, man.”

Daniel just shakes his head. “So, one of my old bullies is now complaining about the others. Okay.”

That riles Johnny, a little. “Hey. I wasn’t-... I didn’t know, okay?” He looks over. “You were feisty enough to steal my girl. How was I supposed to know?”

He winces. “What was I going to do – tell you? _Hey Johnny, d’you mind easing up, you’re making my life hell, you know, I walk the long way home from school – actually I don’t go **anywhere** without looking over my shoulder, and I get dressed every day with you in mind. Running sneakers, nothing hard in my pockets, couple washrags in my bookbag in case there’s blood._ Did you know that?” he adds, mellow haze all gone. Now he wants to hit something. “Every day.”

Johnny shakes his head. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

But _I’m sorry_ isn’t helping him today. “Yeah – _now_ you’re sorry. What would you have said back then?” he presses. “Or – what if you _did_ hurt me that night? What would you have done if you did _break my pretty little face_ , you fucking psychopath?” He has to know, suddenly, whether there really is no mercy in this guy. 

Johnny looks at him a long time. Too wasted for his expression to be readable. Finally he says: “I don’t know.”

“Not good enough,” he snarls, and reaches out to snatch the bottle away.

They struggle over it. “Let go - you’re drunk, man.”

Perhaps true, but still he wins the scuffle. He holds the bottle out of reach. “Johnny. Answer me. You kick me, and I don’t get up. Then what?”

Johnny stares out across the parking lot. “I walk away,” he decides after a while. “I did what I came to do, so, I walk away.”

“You walk away,” he repeats, incredulous, not even resisting when Johnny takes the bottle out of his hand. “You just walk away and leave me lying there unconscious. I’m a _kid_.”

Johnny takes a drink. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re right - Bobby probably wouldn’t let me. He’d be all, you know. _Hey, Johnny, man, you really messed him up! He’s not breathing. I think you killed him, man!_ ” He laughs a little. “Drama queen.”

“Uh huh. And then what?”

A slow breath. “Then I’m scared,” Johnny says. “Like, holy shit maybe I fucked up.” He doesn’t seem done, so Daniel stays quiet to let him continue. “I go over and push Bobby away, cause he’s freaking out, and check myself. And I do feel breathing. I’m like, _Bobby you fucking girl, he is totally breathing, what’s the matter with you_.”

He takes another sip. Shrugs. “Which, thank god, cause I really wouldn’t have wanted to give you breaths in that facepaint. _Yes,_ I would have,” he anticipates, still not looking. “I was a lifeguard, I know how.”

He’s drunk enough to be distracted by that. He can imagine Johnny lounging around like an asshole in one of those red Speedos and the zinc nose cream. Fits, he guesses. Except for the whole helping-others thing. “I didn’t know you were a lifeguard.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You ever pull somebody out?”

Johnny stiffens up. “Yeah. A couple times.” He turns a little. “You don’t ask people that, though. In case-...” He shakes his head, gestures with the bottle.

“Jesus, yeah, I’m sorry.” Still, he’s glad he did. Maybe he can convince himself that that night matters less than he remembers.

“You’d have been home free then.” Johnny burps. “If I stopped kicking your ass and started taking care of you instead, you’d have been good. I’d’ve carried you all the way home.”

“Gee, thanks. You know we were already in my parking lot, right?”

Johnny snorts. “Yeah, you were a quick little shit. You almost made it.”

He reaches over and slugs Johnny in the arm. As hard as he can, even though he’s sort of playing.

Johnny laughs.

So he does it again. And again. “Fucking _asshole,_ Johnny!” He’s so frustrated, because there’s nothing either of them can _do_ about it all now, even though he believes they both actually want to.

“ _Ow._ ” Still laughing, Johnny rubs at where he’s been hit. “I know, man.”

He shoves a little, but he doesn’t feel better. So he gets up (slowly, since balancing is a problem), draws his foot back all the way and soccer-kicks Johnny in the side.

The sound Johnny makes is really satisfying; he curls up and even drops his bottle. Daniel sits back down, purged of frustration for the moment. “Sorry,” he says.

“Nah… no problem.” Johnny’s a little squeaky and breathless as he pulls himself up to sitting again. He reaches over and pats Daniel on the leg. “Told you we shoulda got in a fight tonight.”

* * *

Later on he’s so sick. He tries to explain to Amanda what happened, why he did this to himself, but it all comes out mixed up and missing parts. 

She gets that he was upset though. She gets that he and Johnny were talking about the old days, about Daniel being mistreated, and that Daniel is _enraged to his core_ that it’s still bothering him. She gets that the booze was Johnny’s idea and that he wasn’t pouring for fun; he was attempting to medicate.

That’s as far as she gets. “Honey,” she says, “Next time you need to tell him that that’s sweet, but _what you really need is therapy_.”

“I don’t-. Need-.” He leans over the bowl again. Up comes something that burns; he feels better afterwards.

She brings him a pillow and blanket and makes him sleep in the shower.

Wise of her; it makes cleanup much easier.

* * *

**TBC.**

**(I will never *not* advocate sleeping in the shower in these circumstances. It’s the way to go, people. It’s the only way.)**


	14. Chapter 14

He’s going through the mail. Bills, bills, solicitations-… and something from the All-Valley Commission, which is odd. He can’t remember any mailers being scheduled for this week.

He tears it open, feeling guilty if he sleepwalked his way through a committee meeting and just approved things without paying attention, which he sometimes does-

But it’s not a karate mailer at all. It’s a photograph of a dick.

He slams it facedown on the table. He notices writing on the back. _Dear Danielle: Do you like this? [] YES []NO_

He whips his phone out and texts _What the hell is the matter with you?????_

He watches the dots for a while. Johnny’s taking some time answering – maybe he’s going to apologize? Maybe he’s worried Daniel is actually flipping out about this. Which… he’s not. He’s just pissed off at being messed with, and also marveling at the amount of time Johnny has apparently been willing to invest – forging an All-Valley Commission envelope and physically getting a dick pic printed, all based on a silly conversation they had almost two months ago. 

He thinks about revenge, but he’s not sure how to get it – he could mail the picture back in a different fake envelope and hope Johnny receives it somewhere inopportune and opens it in company… but on second thought no, because everyone Johnny hangs out with is underage so that would probably be a crime. 

He sighs. Messing with people lightheartedly has never been in his skill set. When he fights, he fights to win.

Before he thinks of any good solutions, Johnny finally returns his text. And it’s not an apology. _No nothings the matter baby, thats just what happens sometimes when a guy starts feeling really good._ And then about a dozen laughing emojis.

He’s itching to snap back and he hates being helpless. “Sam! Anthony!” he hollers. They both come running; he rarely shouts in the house. He makes sure his phone is facedown and The Picture is safely back in its envelope. He smiles at them like everything’s fine. “I need a crash course in emojis. First of all, is there one that means _you’re an asshole_?”

* * *

He arrives right when class is supposed to let out, and waits in the parking lot with his lights off as the kids leave. It makes him feel like a criminal or a pervert or something – and worst of all, it doesn’t work. Because his phone buzzes, and it’s _You coming in or what???_

He’s caught. So he stomps in all ready give Johnny a big kick hello… but he doesn’t even get to do that: Johnny’s not alone. Miguel Diaz is still there, tidying up after class.

He stops. They’ve talked about starting to normalize relations between their dojos, starting gradually to let the kids in on the secret that their legendary mutual hatred is maybe starting to erode a little. Is this the time?

“Can I help you, sir?” Diaz says, aggressively polite – with his body aggressively squared up. (What a jerk. Johnny is probably proud of him.). “This is Cobra Kai. You looking to join up, maybe learn some karate?”

Before he can answer, Johnny speaks up. “Cool it, Diaz. He didn’t come to be an annoying little bitch today – did you, LaRusso?”

“I think you can guess what I came for.” Though it will have to wait until they get rid of the boy; he’s not about to get on the mat with Johnny in front of a student; an ego clash would fast become dangerous. He decides to de-escalate by taking a more conversational tone. “How’d you know I was here, anyway?”

“My girl Miss Robinson saw your car out there. Sent me a heads up on text.” Johnny smirks. “Good luck sneaking up on me _here_. My Cobras have my back.”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he says. “I just came to discuss some unusual mail I got from the All-Valley Commission the other day.”

“Did you frame it?” 

He tries giving an unamused adult glare, but Johnny only laughs like the immature idiot he is.

The boy turns in amazement. “Sensei, did you _prank_ him?”

“None of your concern, Diaz,” Johnny says, pretending at a dire tone. Then he grins. “I’ll take care of this. Go on – go home, kid. Get out of here.” And he reaches into his pocket, and tosses his car keys.

Diaz stares. “You… want me to drive your car?”

“Yeah. Assuming you’ll at least give me a ride after?” he says, in Daniel’s direction. “Or are you one of those hit it and quit types?”

Daniel finds himself immediately checking to see what the boy thinks of that particular taunt. Good: it’s making no impression at all. Johnny probably talks this way to everyone. “Yeah, I’ll drive your sensei home after,” he sighs. “Maybe not _in one piece_ … but close. I promise.”

Diaz bows out, grabs his stuff, and has left the dojo before they’re even done warming up. They watch together as that ridiculous black car squeals its way out of the parking lot.

“Hm,” Johnny muses. “Wonder if he actually has his license.”

That would be worrying, except he doesn’t have time because Johnny is already worrying him with something else: a challenge. “Let’s go hard this time. Like… eighty percent? Since we both have work tomorrow.”

Hard sparring sounds all right. Or maybe he can convince Johnny that getting his teeth kicked in would be _badass_ and he’ll agree to hold still for it.

“Come on, man,” Johnny presses when he doesn’t answer right away. “It’s way past the third date now. You have to put out eventually – quit sending me home with blue balls.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll put out when I’m good and ready, okay?” And he throws a (verbal) elbow. “You can’t blame me for taking it slow – the last time you and I went hard you tried to break my leg, remember?”

Johnny heaves a big sigh. “I told you, it was _nothing like that._ You know what?” he adds suddenly. Gets into position and pats himself on the hip. “Gimme the roundhouse.”

“Yeah, _right._ ”

Johnny doesn’t come out of his stance. “Relax. If I didn’t do it in ’84 I’m not going to do it now. Gimme a kick.”

Intellectually he knows that that’s true. And he doesn’t _mistrust_ Johnny now, not like that, so he makes himself aim a roundhouse where requested. His balance is better now than in his youth; he doesn’t hop around when Johnny catches his ankle. “Careful.”

“Stop whining,” Johnny says. Applies some torque, which makes him turn away to keep the pressure off his knee. “And, there it is.” Johnny mimes elbow strikes to the back of the leg. “Bam, bam, bam. Now you limp home.” He lets go – and squares up again. Pats himself to ask for another kick.

This is against his better judgement. “Be _careful,_ ” he says again, but performs it.

Johnny catches it and holds it in place. Right away he can feel that this is different; his foot is clamped tight to Johnny’s body and he couldn’t twist if he wanted to. He has a sudden, very visceral fear that Johnny will rip ligaments free like pulling a weed. His entire leg feels taut already. 

Knees are nothing to fool around with. “Stop,” he says, and taps out on Johnny’s arm before he even _does_ anything.

Johnny releases the grip right away – but with his free hand, palms him over the face and shoves. “Aw. Pussy.”

* * *

Eventually they rile each other up until they _do_ spar pretty hard. (Eighty percent?). Johnny winds him no less than four times – and adds insult to injury by laughing and celebrating every time he crumples. For his part, he gets a couple of good kicks in, one of which is definitely going to bruise Johnny’s cheekbone, and also drops him on his head with a sweep that’s frankly sloppy.

That one, he apologizes for. “You okay?”

“Penalty LaRusso,” he calls, signaling from the mat. “Excessive brutality.” Then he laughs. “No, I’m good.” Except that after he gets up he takes a second to roll his neck, and it’s obvious it’s bothering him.

Daniel frowns at him for his macho bullshit. “You’re not good. Come here and kneel down. I know a chiropractic thing.” 

Johnny sighs “Of course you do,” but cooperates. (He must be really hurting!). He kneels and sits back on his heels, watching and wary.

“Don’t worry, I’m not strangling you,” he promises as he crouches down. “For now.” He spans Johnny’s neck with both hands, slides up until he feels the ridge of the skull in the back. 

“Strangling’s all right. I had a babe once who said _choke me daddy_ , which I thought was weird, but then the choking itself was-”

“For the love of God, would you shut up.” But he’s not actually annoyed; he’s calm and focused, feeling for exactly the right position. “Tilt your head back a little and relax, I’ve got you.”

“If you fuck me up worse I’ll kill you, bro.” But he closes his eyes and, after a deep breath, relaxes.

Daniel shifts the angle minutely, and then _lifts_ , until Johnny gasps and tenses and knots his hands together. “Shit.”

“Stop it. I said relax.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say, you’re not the one getting your head pulled off.” It takes him a second to stop fighting. “Oh my god, that hurts,” he says, through clenched teeth because the upward pressure is keeping his jaw closed.

“Yeah, I know. It’s okay, it’s good for you.” He works for a while – keeping steady pressure, changing the angle just a hair now and then, encouraging Johnny to relax and breathe through it.

He fully expects a mocking reference to Lamaze class, but when Johnny finally opens his mouth he actually does worse. “That hurts so, _so_ good. Choke me, daddy.”

He’d like to, except in the middle of tractioning someone’s neck it’s probably dangerous. And anyway Johnny would probably let him, and probably not even mind it, so it wouldn’t even do any good.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Getting near the end now. I believe I’ve got two more parts.**


	15. Chapter 15

He walks in the house late and sweaty, and heads right for the shower.

Amanda follows him into the bathroom. “Honey?”

Her tone makes him nervous. But he determinedly does not stop stripping; he’s trying to act the opposite of the way someone with a guilty conscience might. Because there is _nothing_ strange about what he’s been doing tonight. Nothing strange about doing karate, or about taking care of the fallout when he made a mistake and hurt his training partner. It’s not his fault said training partner likes to make things weird, when really things are _not_ weird. At _all_. “What’s up?” he says.

She seems surprised that he’s taking this approach. “Uh, okay,” she says, and her eyes travel up and down him. “Hello, penis.”

“Well-” Now he wants to cover up. But no – this is his _wife_ ; he’s not covering anything. “I’m getting in the shower, Mandy. You want to come?”

She hesitates.

“What? What’s the matter.”

She sighs. “I want to be honest with you,” she says, gently.

“So be honest.” He sticks a hand in the spray. It’s warm enough. He decides to get in, because it is too damn weird to just stand here freezing and naked while a fully dressed woman gives him some sort of lecture.

(It’s… a little bit sexy, though. Johnny’s right about her; she _is_ tough.)

“Okay.” She smiles at him a little. “My first thought just now was: yes, maybe I _will_ get in the shower with him. Because then I can give him a little rub-a-dub-dub and find out in five minutes what he’s actually been up to tonight.” She crosses her arms. “But then I decided I would just ask.”

It takes him a second to put two and two together. And once he does, all he can do is stare.

So she says it outright: “Are you sleeping with Johnny Lawrence? I’m not saying it’s problem if you are,” she adds, “But it _is_ a problem if you’re doing it behind my back.”

The sharp pain of his side burning is what tells him he’s been standing rooted to the spot. He moves a little so the scalding will stop, rubs the red mark, and moves to turn the water temperature down.

Thankfully, that moment gives him a chance to collect himself and not snap at her in mortified outrage. “No, I am not sleeping with Johnny Lawrence,” he says grimly, when he’s finally able. “Except for karate, he has not touched me. Ever. I swear.”

She looks at him a minute. “Okay,” she says finally. Still with some doubt. “I just don’t like you hiding things from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he says – as he pulls the shower curtain closed. _Great – great move._

Amanda pulls it back open. “Okay,” she says again, cheerful. He recognizes her tone as a challenge. “So then tell me about this sexy rivalry thing you two have going on. I want to hear about it.”

“Oh my God. It’s not-…”

“Yes it is,” she cuts him off. “Getting you drunk is one thing, but this is way beyond regular frenemy behavior. He sends you dick pics.”

“He sent me _one_ dick pic, which I threw away, in the mail, just to mess with me,” he shoots back. Then his brain catches up with him. “How did you know about that, anyway?”

Her mouth twists. “Because I saw an All-Valley envelope in the trash, and you have _never_ not shown me those mailers when they come around. And I remembered Sam and Anthony saying something about you rage-texting at the table. So I took a look.” She pops her eyebrows. “It was quite an eyeful. You have good taste, at least.”

“ _Amanda._ I didn’t ask for that.”

“That’s too bad,” she says almost under her breath. Then she comes closer. “I need you to understand something though, honey, okay?”

He doesn’t like this pitying tone. At all. “What?” he says, and slaps a faceful of soap on himself so that he has to stick his head in the water instead of looking at her anymore.

“You’re not upset because he’s flirting with you. You’re upset because it’s working.”

He keeps washing his face. Tries to breathe deep and keep it together.

“But, there’s nothing wrong with that,” she tells him. “There’s nothing wrong with that kind of attention being fun. I just want you to know what’s going on, so that you can be in control of what’s going on, so that you don’t go and make any stupid mistakes. Okay?”

Finally he can’t pretend to be soaping anymore; he’s been under there so long his eyes are starting to hurt.

“Mistakes like what?” he finally says. It would be nice, actually, for someone to tell him what the rules are.

“I don’t think you’re going to leave me,” she says, still gentle. “I don’t think he’s going to change you. I also don’t think – hopefully – that you’re going to come home with a disease. I meant it when I said to be careful.”

He shakes his head slowly. He can’t believe he has to say any of this to his own wife, but apparently he does, and he’s certainly not going to _not_ say it. “I would never. Ever. _Ever_ sleep with a guy – let alone _him_. Never. Not as long as I live, not in a million years after I’m dead, not ever.”

She laughs a little. “I figured. What I _do_ worry about,” she says, “Is this making you all upset and moody if you can’t handle it. I don’t want to see you distant from me, or pissy at home. I don’t want to see you blow up your friendship and start fighting again. And I don’t want to see you upset, honey. I really do want you to be happy.”

The gist of her counseling sounds vaguely familiar, but he doesn’t place it until she goes on: “So: you have to know what your boundaries are – and it’s okay if they change over time, that happens – but know what you’re okay with, and don’t let him push past what you-”

“This is what you told Sam,” he realizes suddenly. “When she first started dating.”

Amanda shrugs. “I had the same concerns about her. It’s fine to go out and have a good time; it’s _not_ fine to get pushed into something you regret.”

He turns his back to soap up his privates. He does it as quick as he can so that his cock doesn’t stir. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to get this talk from your wife?”

“Aw,” she says, teasing false pity. “You’re a big boy. I think you can handle it.” 

He jumps as something touches the back of his neck – she’s leaned in to kiss him. He turns to her, but she’s already back out and drying her face off.

“So,” she says brightly. “If Johnny _hasn’t_ already exhausted you for the night… mind if I join you in there?”

He wants to protest that he absolutely _can_ still go more than once in a night. But that would be counterproductive here, so he just makes a face at her. “Fine. Yes. As long as you lock the door – and promise you’re not going to say one more word about Johnny Fucking Lawrence in here.”

She undresses. Saunters naked to the door and takes her time about locking it, so that he’s all nervous and flustered by the time she finally gets in. “Good,” she says, touching his cheek. “Glad to see _I_ can still make you blush too.”

* * *

**TBC. Poor Daniel lol.**

**I have just one more part to go. It's long though, so I may end up posting it in two chunks. We'll see. Let me know what you think so far!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Okay, this part ended up being too long so I broke it up. Sorry for the suspense! The final part should be forthcoming pretty soon. :-)**

* * *

Daniel gets a text: _Change of plans for thurs. My place, 7pm._

They haven’t hung out at Johnny’s in months, not since Johnny teased him and terrorized him and spit in his mouth. (He’s able to remember that without short-circuiting now, at least. Though he still can hardly believe it happened. Though he knows it _did_ ; he can still remember the taste. Though he tries not to.).

He responds: _Are you going to behave?_

Instead of mocking him Johnny just texts back: _Yes._

…But, when he lets Daniel into the apartment on Thursday, he crowds him against the kitchen counter and mocks him _then_. “You’re such a girl, LaRusso. Are you seriously afraid I’m going to get fresh with you?”

“Hey.” He’s not shy about shoving Johnny back now, at least, to get some breathing room. “All I have to go on is past history, okay? Are you telling me you’ve turned over a new leaf?”

Aggression was definitely the right move: Johnny turns and picks up a beer from the counter casually – no more intimidation. Chuckles. “No.”

“Unbelievable.” He shakes his head. “You got anything here _I_ like to drink?”

He points. “Booze. Cups.” Then he wanders away to sit on the couch.

While Daniel tries to pour something palatable, Johnny starts talking. “I wanted to hang out here so that half the bar doesn’t have to listen while I tell you about this wild message I got on my dating app.”

Oh, Jesus. He sighs. Pauses inside the fridge. “Do I really want to hear this?”

“Man, I don’t know if _I_ want to hear this. It’s a hot babe – _really_ hot, and wild, and ready to go. But.”

“There’s always a _but_ , Johnny,” he sighs as he digs through Johnny’s freezer to find ice that doesn’t have gravel in it. (It makes him a little nostalgic. Once upon a time, before Encino, before the fridge with an automatic filtered-water ice maker, _he_ used to buy his ice in bags too, and smash it up on the pavement outside.). “Any woman who’s messaging _you_ , there is always going to be a _but_.”

He looks over and Johnny raises his beer in a mock salute, and doesn’t argue.

He almost feels bad. “Okay, well. So tell me about this babe,” he invites on his way over to the couch. “Three legs? Secretly a man? Wants you to quit karate because she hates violence?”

“Yeah no – _that_ would be dealbreaker.” He laughs. “No. What it is is, she’s great across the board. But. I’m still kind of on the fence about it. Because… what she wants is a threesome. Me and her… and her other guy.”

Daniel takes in the far-off stare, the chewing of the lip, the nervous spinning of the beer in his hands.

And he _bursts_ out laughing.

“Come- come on, man!” Johnny starts laughing too, but kind of aggrieved. “I need advice here. Not torture. Shit got real.”

“Oh god. Oh _god_ it-.” He can’t stop laughing long enough to stay anything. Johnny’s been asked to put his money where his mouth is, and now look at him. It serves him right. It serves him so, so right.

“Keep laughing, LaRusso. I’m going to start kicking your ass in a minute.”

It’s well over a minute before he can speak coherently though. His stomach hurts from being in hysterics for this long. “Johnny. Johnny. Johnny… you brought this on yourself, man. You literally did this to yourself,” he wheezes. “You _put this_ in your profile. You _said_ you were flexible enough to do a guy. And now-”

“Think about it!” he objects. “I said I would _think_ about doing a guy!”

“Yeah, and I guess you’re thinking about it pretty hard _now_ , huh?”

“Oh my god.” He puts his beer down to cover his face with both hands.

Daniel tries to put his head together and think straight (ha!). “I don’t get it, though. What’s the problem? I mean…” he shakes his head in amazement thinking about… all of it. “Guy-on-guy doesn’t bother you. You’ve been hitting on me for _months_. Sending me dick pics. You almost _kissed_ me.”

“I was _kidding,_ ” he protests. “I knew you weren’t going to go for it. I mean, screwing with you is _fun_ , yeah, but I wasn’t actually trying to…” he moves one hand to gesture, vaguely.

“Suck my dick?” Daniel says crudely. He sees no reason why he has to show mercy now. Johnny is startled into looking up at him, and he follows up. “Teasing is one thing, but you’re not sure you’re ready to _voluntarily put a dick in your mouth?_ ”

He hasn’t forgotten a _word_ of what Johnny said to him and he isn’t going to let Johnny forget it either.

“I hate you, man.” Then he laughs, helplessly. “Like… now what? Seriously – what do I _do_?”

He puts on a serious expression, as if he’s going to give advice of great weight. Nods wisely. “Cup the balls, I think.”

* * *

**TBC.**

**Okay, so, now you see what’s up. Next chapter is the last. The boys will do some soul searching and try to figure some stuff out… but don’t get your hopes up, they’re not going to have sex with each other at this point :-p**


	17. Chapter 17

Johnny puts something on the TV and tries to talk about other things. But it’s obvious where his mind is and remains. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve never touched a dick before,” he volunteers during a commercial.

Daniel doesn’t take his eyes off the commercial. “Your own doesn’t count.”

“Other people’s. At parties and stuff.”

He can’t _not_ look, at that. “What the hell kind of parties are you going to?”

“No – just, you know… when you’re kids? Somebody steals booby magazines and you all …?” Jerkoff gesture.

Daniel shakes his head.

“Oh.” Johnny snickers – not _nearly_ embarrassed enough about this. “We totally did.”

“Mm.” Daniel tries not to think about it, but too late, now he’s thought about it. He frowns. “That’s still just your own.”

“Yeah – if you _win_ ,” Johnny explains. “But after the first guy finishes, everybody else has to stop with themselves, and help out each other. Or don’t, and walk around with a giant loser’s boner getting laughed at. Which is actually worse, believe it or not. It’s better to just pick the guy with the best grip and get it over with.”

“That’s horrible.” He’s not joking. “That’s the worst game I’ve ever heard of.”

Mistake. Because of course it prompts Johnny to laugh and one-up himself. “Oh there’s totally worse ones. Like... everybody takes their dick out, and the blindfolded guy has to figure out who’s who. Marco _Pole_ -o. It can be over quick if you’re good at it. But if you’re good at it...”

He’s starting to detect a theme here. “…Then everybody laughs at you for, like, being a dick connoisseur.” 

“Yep. Or you can be bad at it,” he gestures to himself, “And then you’re stuck groping dicks forever. While everyone laughs at you.”

“Seriously, how do you call these people _friends_?”

He laughs. “Nah, it was fine, we were just messing around.”

 _Messing around._ One of Johnny’s favorite activities, it seems. “Look, if you meet this couple,” he says, “They’re not going to want you to be just messing around. You know that, right? You’ll have to-… you know.” _Take it seriously,_ he starts to say, but that feels condescending.

Johnny misunderstands him. “I’ll have to-? I am _not_ taking it up the ass. Are you kidding me?”

“Take- wait- what-? No,” he stammers. “No, that’s not what I meant, Jesus.” He is not sitting here thinking of Johnny-. (Ugh: now he _is._ Thanks, Johnny. He tries to banish that thought and focus on what he was trying to say.). “I just mean: you’re going to have to actually engage with them. Actually be ready to have sexual contact with-.” _With a dude._ He swallows down an immature giggle and manages to just say: “-With these people.”

“Yeah. What if I can’t?” He opens a second beer. He’s definitely not drinking as much as usual – what, is he trying to keep himself together for once? “Like what if I get an eyeful of this guy’s hairy old ballsack and it’s such a turnoff that I can’t even have fun – let alone get it up? What?”

Daniel’s choking. “Please,” he says, while he’s still trying to cough burning DIY cocktail out of his lungs. “Please, never say that again. I don’t ever- want to hear you- talk about _hairy old ballsack-_ ever again.”

“Yeah, believe me, me neither. I mean, hopefully since the babe is hot, she managed to pull a dude who’s at least basically goodlooking. Right?”

“I don’t know.” He’s still coughing, but he wants to get this said. “She pulled _you_ , so obviously her standards are-.” He gestures, a falling thumbs-down. He’d add a falling-rocket whistle, except he’s still got booze in his windpipe.

“Thanks, buddy.” Johnny reaches out and slaps him on the back. Hard, and several times, until he can finally clear his throat.

Then he feels _slightly_ bad about being so unhelpful, so he tries to give some real advice on his way over to the sink to get water. “Look, I’m sure it’ll be wild, and knowing you you’ll probably think it’s fun,” he assures. “But if it’s not, you can always stop. _No means no_ , people say now.” He runs the tap. The pressure’s not so great. “You should try and have a good time, but not get pushed into something you regret.” He has to give credit where it’s due. “That’s not me – that’s dating advice that comes from Amanda.”

Johnny snorts. “Who settled on _you_ , so. Obviously _her_ standards are-.” _With_ the whistle.

Daniel doesn’t rise to the bait. He just takes a sip of water, and starts making himself another drink. He needs it.

Johnny keeps talking. “I’m just, like-. What if I can’t get into it, like some frigid bitch? That’ll be _so lame_.” He plays with his beer. “I’ll be lame.”

Daniel is about to answer with something snarky, but just in time his ears catch up and he notices Johnny’s tone. He’s not kidding. The prospect of being lame – whatever that means – is actually upsetting to him.

So he answers more seriously, still busy on the counter. “Yeah, okay, I guess that’s possible,” he allows. “So if it’s a risk too high to be worthwhile, just cancel the date. Don’t even go. And fix your profile so it doesn’t happen again.”

“What, like chicken out? How lame is _that_!”

He sighs. Johnny has painted himself into a gay little corner here and there’s really nothing he can do about it. “Then I guess you’re gonna go for it.” He tastes his drink and it’s awful. Oh, well. “You’ll be fine,” he assures on his way back to the couch. “I promise you you’re not frigid. You’re constantly making things weirdly sexual with _me_.”

“No, I’m making things weirdly sexual _for_ you. That’s different.”

That makes total sense. And when things are put that way, he suddenly knows what to do. “Okay, fair enough,” he says, brightly. He puts his drink down on the coffee table. Claps his hands and rubs them together, and walks around behind the couch.

Johnny cranes to look up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Messing with you,” he says. He puts his hand on Johnny’s head and turns him forward again. 

“Hey whoa-” Johnny objects, starting to pull away.

But Daniel stops him with a hand around his throat. “Nope. Sit.”

Johnny settles back and swallows under his palm. “What are you doing,” he says again, but it’s much quieter and less certain this time.

“Just your neck, same as I did the other day,” he says. “Only, not the same. Let’s see how you do.”

He clamps both hands over the tops of Johnny’s shoulders to rub, the way he does with Amanda when she’s had a tough day. (It feels nothing like Amanda. There’s so much more muscle here.). “If you can’t take it,” he adds, obnoxiously patient, “Let me know and I’ll stop.”

At that, of course, Johnny stops resisting. (He can’t believe he never stumbled upon this method of managing the guy before. Now that he thinks about it, it’s completely obvious.). He’s not _totally_ cooperative, though – he’s muttering complaints under his breath, including something about a _happy ending_ which Daniel heroically ignores.

He’s busy. At first he uses a lot of force, which draws low noises of satisfaction, and stays professional. But then, once he feels Johnny starting to melt, he slides one hand up a little too high, to tease the side of the neck. That gets a shiver.

“Mm,” Johnny says. Protesting? Or just acknowledging that he’s noticed?

“Yeah, well. How am I going to let you step onto the mat without warming up?”

He feels a laugh. And he continues, working the shoulders and neck until Johnny’s head lolls forward. He alternates firm massage with moves he would never, _ever_ let anyone see him performing on a guy. Stroking down across the chest. Scratching up into the hair.

Amanda is absolutely right to compliment him on his neckrubs; he knows what the hell he’s doing and he can feel what he’s doing to Johnny. He gets good reactions throughout, but then when he plays with an earlobe, Johnny hisses and shudders huge.

He laughs. “ _Somebody’s_ not frigid.” Teases around the ear some more, grazes the cheek.

“ _Somebody_ wants a punch in the face,” Johnny murmurs, low.

“Aright, wise guy.” He stops, and walks around the couch.

Can he go on? He can go on. Johnny’s puddled boneless and quiet; he’s seen stuffed animals more threatening than this.

So he steps over Johnny’s lap. Doesn’t sit down – he kneels on him instead, shins cutting across Johnny’s thighs, knees on the outside. He braces one hand on the back of the couch and holds Johnny’s jaw with the other, so he controls exactly where this is going to end up. And he leans in.

He stops not half an inch from Johnny’s parted lips. Waits a moment. Sighs softly into his mouth.

Johnny’s breath catches. Several times, as he inhales long and unsteadily. He squirms.

“Okay,” Daniel breathes, still almost directly against him. “So now we see how it is.” He brings up his free hand and traces Johnny’s lower lip with his thumb. For a moment he presses just a little too hard, so that he dips in to graze the teeth. He feels a shiver. “Johnny Lawrence… _not_ the straightest of the straight. Guess you weren’t lying in your profile after all.”

He leans back, so that Johnny has to make eye contact. Releases the jaw and skims over Johnny’s throat, which is jumping. “You _are_ able to respond to the touch of a man.”

He’s already about ninety percent sure about this, but he wants to _know_. So he holds up a hand, palm-in, and slowly (slowly. Leaving plenty of time to object) moves it down between them to Johnny’s lap. Gives the briefest, lightest TSA-agent press with the back of his fingers, just enough to investigate. Yep. “And you like it.”

Johnny shivers again. Grabs him by the hips and removes him, standing them both up. “Yeah – and?” Belligerent and nervous.

Does Johnny have a problem with it? Does he think _Daniel_ has a problem with it? ( _Does_ Daniel have a problem with it?). He decides the answer is, or should be, no across the board. For a second he considers suggesting otherwise – one nasty enough comment and he can undo months of the closeness he’s still not entirely comfortable with, push Johnny away, get some distance back. For a second it’s tempting.

But in the end he doesn’t – maybe can’t. It would be horrible, and totally undeserved, and that isn’t how he rolls. “And nothing,” he says, with certainty. “And your date is going to go fine. Good for you.” He backs up, to make more space physically at least. 

And now it’s probably time to quit while he’s ahead, before Johnny gets the bright idea to try making out or something, which he is definitely not up for. He bends to the coffee table and picks up his keys. “All right, I’m heading out. Let me know how it goes.”

“Definitely.” Johnny hands him his jacket, grinning at him. He can still see nerves. “Come over next week, Princess. You can hear all about it.”

“Hold up. I’m not looking for all the gory details,” he clarifies. “I just want to know, you know, that it went okay.” His impulse actually was about making sure that _Johnny_ was okay, that he wasn’t going to be flipped out after stepping so far outside any reasonable guy’s comfort zone. 

“Uh-huh. Gory details it is.” That’s what he gets for caring. “Maybe I’ll take pictures.”

He tries for an adult sigh and shakes his head. Opens the door to leave.

Johnny calls after him: “ _Dick pics and hairy old ballsacks, coming right up!_ ”

He slams the door. He can’t _believe_ this guy.

He takes out his phone and calendars _JFL apt 7pm_ for a week from today anyway.

* * *

**The End.**

**I do love Daniel’s cluelessness here. Let’s just let him go on thinking he’s the straightest guy to ever walk the earth.**

**This is the end – unless someday I do an epilogue where Johnny reports back on his adventure. :-p**

**Thanks for reading, thanks for commenting, I hope you guys had fun!**


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